Monster
by triedtolie
Summary: Nothing is ever as it seems. There are no such things as monsters - only people. But sometimes, people are the worst monsters of all.  Superhero AU.
1. Prologue

The cafeteria of McKinley High school buzzed excitedly that lunchtime, the voices of hundreds of attention-seeking teenagers echoing off the walls and linoleum floors. As any American public school, McKinley's cafeteria could only be described as a jungle. The tables were separated into cliques (predictably), each table consumed by a world of their own, whether it be the world of punk rock or pop charts. Head cheerleader Quinn Fabray gossiped amongst her hair-flicking minions while band geeks like Artie Abrams looked on longingly. Rachel Berry sat alone, practicing her musical scales while the Goths looked on irritably.

But the most apt participants of the 'jungle' metaphor were the jocks: the meatheads and princes of the McKinley social order, not adverse to knocking their heads together and grunting at one another if it meant asserting their animalistic authority. As the aforementioned meatheads of McKinley, lunch in the cafeteria would usually see them guffawing and fist-bumping as they scarfed down their tater-tots, preying on the less fortunate and being generally sadistic. Today was no different.

"Hey, homo!"

There was a splattering noise and the entire cafeteria fell silent. Kurt Hummel stared in horror at the contents of his lunch tray, now stained across the front of his waistcoat. Everyone stared as Azimio stepped close, towering over the boy.

"Oops." He said quietly, and he walked away.

As the chatter once again rose, and the scene ended, Kurt remained where he stood, glancing around the cafeteria for any sign of help. But the cheerleaders were gossiping; the geeks were debating; and even the loners like Rachel Berry were paying him no heed. As usual, it was like nothing had happened.

* * *

><p>The streets seemed quiet and peaceful at this time of night.<p>

In the empty suburban streets of Lima, Ohio, one would not expect overmuch in the way of danger or mystery. Within the neat single story houses, with their tidy little driveways and gardens, the residents slept. The sound of light traffic could be heard in the distance, the soft thrums of music weaving through the still night air. The light of the street lamps glittered upon the road.

So it was odd that there should be a man in a heavy black coat and hat, hurrying round the corner at a pace that suggested anything but peace. Perhaps it was his quick footsteps, or the way he glanced constantly over his shoulder. Perhaps it was the sight of a stranger's blood upon his cheek, or the gun clenched firmly in his left hand. His footsteps barely made a sound as he trod faster – past number 32 - faster towards what he seemed to think was safety. Perhaps if he went faster, he could escape the very real horror of retribution. After all their planning, months of careful activity and sidestepping the authorities, they'd thought they'd won. They'd thought...

It was no more than a shadow, out of the corner of one's eye, but it made his breath hitch and his steps falter. Number 24. He glanced around. The street was silent as ever.

He didn't see the flash of movement behind him.

He continued to move, increasing speed once more, but his eyes never ceased their anxious roaming. His footsteps grew heavier. They beat against the pavement. Which was louder? The sound of his shoes against concrete? Or the desperate pounding of his guilty heart?

From somewhere behind him, a trashcan rattled. A scavenging cat, surely.

He quickened his pace. Number 18...

He was breathing heavily now, from panic more than anything else. Wide, cold eyes darted incessantly in their sockets. His fist clenched white around the handle of his gun. The sweat on his brow mingled with the blood on his cheek. The final deeds of this night were not yet done.

A trashcan fell suddenly with a reverberating clang, rolling noisily down number 3's driveway. With a yelp, the man spun around, his gun in the air and aiming. The trashcan rolled slowly to a stop, spilling its contents across the ground. The street was empty.

"Who's there?" The man hissed; a hushed yell. He pointed the gun this way and that. His hands shook. "Show yourself!"

Silence. There was nothing there.

With a grunt of frustration, the man turned round once more –

-But there was already someone there.

"Shit!" He gasped, but it was too late. His gun was suddenly flying in the air, falling to the ground six feet away. He stepped backwards, trapped, looking for an escape. The girl before him strode forwards after him, caging him with her slanted blue eyes.

"Please," He begged, stumbling into number 1's letterbox, "I didn't mean it, please."

The girl gave him a bright smile; "I'm sorry, but you did a bad thing, and I don't really think you should get away with it."

"What - "

He didn't see the other girl - a devil in red, a messenger of retribution – step out behind him and she slam her fist into the side of his head. The last thing he saw were those beautiful blue eyes, sparkling from behind the mask of what could easily have been an angel.

In the empty suburban streets of Lima, Ohio, one would not expect overmuch in the way of danger or mystery.

But things are never as they seem.


	2. Chapter One: The History of Heroes

Hello, readers! I hope you enjoy this chapter because it was absolutely painful to write. Its basically all the basic junk you need to know before I can get into the actual story. Hopefully I can write the next chapter quickly now that this is done.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Or X-Men. Cause this is pretty much the same basic concept as X-Men.

* * *

><p>Burt Hummel heard about Will Schuester a few months after the accident, sometime after Kurt's ninth birthday. They were living in a motel at that point, on the outskirts of Ohio. Burt was working part time at mechanics shop when the man found him. He wouldn't give Burt his name, but when he thought back on it, Burt realised he owed him everything. There was something about the stranger that Burt trusted. Maybe it was his eyes, or the way he tousled Kurt's hair as he passed.<p>

"_Self control is a skill that not many acquire, Mr. Hummel_." He'd said, his voice gruff and warm, "_There's a fine line between good and evil. All we can do is master our impulses and hope for the best." _He leaned forward,_ "Accidents do happen, but they can be avoided with a little self control. Do you get me? Accidents can be _avoided_. There are no such thing as monsters, Mr. Hummel. Only people." _It was only after he'd left that Burt noticed the card on the counter:

_William Schuester  
>Educator and biologist<br>13 Racer street,  
>Lima, Ohio<em>

At the time, he didn't know if he could trust the guy, but it was all he had. His wife was gone. His son's safety compromised. He had nothing left to lose.

He made his way to Lima.

* * *

><p>He'd seen it on the news plenty of times: Parents, handing over their infants to the authorities for extermination. Teenagers arrested and put to death without question. Human beings flipping over cop cars with their bare hands, running, running, before being gunned down by the police.<p>

He heard the words and adjectives they used: _Vicious. Inhuman. Mutants. Dangers to society. Kill on sight. Monsters._

He would hear these words and turn cold. Because these words were about his son.

His Kurt. His precious Kurt, who wouldn't hurt a fly if he could help it. _Vicious. _Who was scared of spiders and the dark. _Inhuman. _His Kurt, who would cry and apologise every time he used his powers. _Dangerous. _Every time he caught fire, sat in the bathtub and tried to let the water extinguish him. _Kill on sight._

His Kurt.

_Monster_.

* * *

><p>It was a parched morning in summer that Burt first met Will Schuester. When his truck had pulled up in front of the address he hadn't known quite what he'd expected, but he supposed this was it. The front lawn was dry and yellowing, the paint was peeling off the door. For a moment he regretted ever listening to that stranger. He didn't even know the guy's name. The state of the house before him wasn't very condusive to hope, but Burt supposed this was all the chance he had. He made his way up the cracked garden path and knocked on the door.<p>

Burt glanced left and right, as though waiting for a police car to come speeding down the street and arrest him. The door opened.

Will Schuester was a strange man: his house (distinctly more comforting on the inside than out) was cool and clean, and filled with an assortment of potted plants. He knew more about biology than any professor Burt had ever met; he only ever wore vests, and he never _ever_ spoke about his brother. When Burt mentioned the picture on Will's old fridge, the man just chuckled sadly and refused to meet his eye, "He was a good man, Mr. Hummel. No matter what they tell me."

It was a slow process to determine whether he could trust Will. One false move and this man could have the cops at his door, ready to take Kurt away from him. But Schuester was smart, and he was patient, and he was everything Kurt Hummel needed.

"They treat mutants like animals. Like a disease." Will had said, late one night, as he passed Burt a beer, "When you show that kind of hate, and violence towards someone – especially children - how can you not expect it in return? Mutants are not evil: not my brother and not your son. But if you showed Kurt that kind of fear and hatred? Refused to love him and beg for his blood? Sure. We'd see him on the evening news, murdering the people who tried to murder him first.

"I became a teacher," he said in a low voice, leaning closer so Burt could hear, "because I wanted this to end. I wanted to find every mutant child I can, and I want to show them that they are not evil, and that they're special. I want to prove to the world what these kids could be. The world treats them like villains. But they could be heroes."

* * *

><p>And so it began: Burt Hummel and Will Schuester, underground rebels fighting for the mutant cause. They decided to call the group New Directions: kids following a new path to becoming more than what society expected of them.<p>

Burt never found out how it was that the word spread, and Will never told him, but sure enough families began to trickle into Lima. They came from all over America, each with a different story: Mrs. Fabray had left her husband in Houston when she'd found out about her little girl's unnatural affinity to water; the Berrys had been shocked to discover the perfect little girl they had adopted was moving objects with her mind. They trickled in from all over: the Changs and Cohen-Changs, the Pierces and the Joneses, old Mrs. Lopez and her granddaughter Santana.

The families never spoke to each other in public; they ran in different circles. It was better that way, should one of them be caught. Their children seemed grow up in their own separate worlds: no playdates or games in the park. Nothing to suggest that every Tuesday and Thursday - as everyone went home from school and work – New Directions would meet in secret beneath McKinley High School, in the only safe place they knew. Burt wasn't sure how long ago this basement had been built (Will said it had been a makeshift bomb shelter in the fifties before everyone had forgotten about it) but it was the perfect lair. There were several large, concrete rooms, perfect for a bunch of supernaturally gifted kids to run around in. They managed to sneak in some old couches, bookshelves and even a mini fridge to add to the kitchenette Burt had built in the main room. With people their own age they could trust, the kids could be themselves and exercise their abilities without being caught. It was their very own slice of freedom.

It was around this time that Burt met Carole. She was just a single mom from Lima, and Burt liked her instantly. They'd meet sometimes while picking up their kids from school, or at parent teacher meetings, but nothing more. There was only so many people Burt could trust with his son's life, and no matter how lovely Carole looked in denim, she wasn't one of them. Burt would live alone and never marry again if it meant losing Kurt.

So of course, when Carole invited Kurt over for a play date with Finn, the worst had to happen. Burt wasn't sure how it had happened (something to do with Carole insisting he try ice-cream), but Kurt had ended up locking himself in the Hudson's bathroom, burning their bath towels to smithereens.

"It was too cold! I couldn't help it! I'm sorry!" Kurt had sobbed when his dad arrived. When Carole had called him he was sure he'd very nearly died from dread.

"_Hey, Carole, is something up?"_

"_Um, actually Burt, I think you should come over...Kurt's locked himself in the bathroom...it smells like something's burning..."_

"Please, Carole," he'd begged, as he lifted a hysterical Kurt into his arms and hurried for the door, "he's a good kid, I swear, don't tell anybody, I will do _anything_."

"Burt, stop!" she'd yelled, hurrying after him to get to the door first. Finn was peaking into the hall from the kitchen, his face pale, "it's okay, I get it, just stop."

Burt whirled around to face her, "I know what they say, Carole. I know what you're thinking and you're _wrong_ - "

"I know." She'd said. "I understand, Burt. If there's anyone on the planet who could understand how you feel, it's me. Just _listen_."

And that was how New Directions had stumbled upon Finn Hudson, a boy with more strength in his left pinkie than most weight-lifters would ever dream of. "My mom says we're like superheroes!" Finn had said, and Kurt had smiled. Neither of them really believed it, but it was a nice idea.

Burt and Carole were married a year later. "I guess there really is someone for everyone, hey champ?" Burt had laughed, wrapping an arm around his sons shoulder. Kurt had smiled and nodded, and hoped it were true.

* * *

><p>In Kurt's first year of Junior High, Will and Burt happened upon step number two.<p>

It began innocently enough: Will mentioning a colleague of his running for congress. For _congress_. It was the perfect opportunity. Burt was the perfect candidate. He was the everyman: he owned a small business; he was a father; he was intelligent; he wore flannel shirts. Voters would relate to him, they would _love_ him. Burt Hummel's political career began with a bang.

He talked about the importance of arts programs in schools, and the importance of the working class voters. He wasn't religious and he wasn't fanatical. In his first year of office, he didn't mention the mutants once.

* * *

><p>It happened on the first day of Kurt's freshman year. It had been a miserable day, to say the least. It was the day Kurt and all the other losers in his class were introduced to slushies.<p>

Kurt immediately hated slushies. He was almost traumatised by them. The first time it happened he almost thought he wouldn't make it into the bathrooms before the icy cold drink overwhelmed him. It was freezing. It was beyond cold. He wanted to burst into a ball of orange flames then and there just to make it go away.

But he didn't. Instead, he tearfully called his father and asked him to come pick him up. He was shivering so violently he could barely type the number. The first day of high school and he barely lasted three hours.

Later that day at New Directions it took all of Mr. Schuester, Mercedes, Brittany and Tina to calm him down enough to convince him to go back to school the next day.

"I know it's hard, particularly for you," Mr. Schuester had said, softly, "You can barely stand the cold at the best of times. I wish I could be there all the time to stop them but I can't. This is a test for you, Kurt. You can stand this just like all the other kids. You can control this."

Tina and Mercedes sat on either side of him, rubbing his arm and resting their heads on his shoulders. Then Rachel stormed in, in tears.

"They know! They know about me, I'm positive!" She wailed.

"What?" said Finn and Mr. Schuester simultaneously. Finn had jumped to his feet.

"Th-they threw a slushie at me in the hallway!" Rachel sobbed, "and they called me a _freak!_ How did they _know?_"

Everyone calmed down dramatically, "its okay, Rachel, they slushied me too." Kurt said sadly. "It was just senseless bullying."

Rachel sat down in an armchair and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her stained kitten sweater. "Oh. It's just...when they said I was a freak I naturally assumed they meant my powers, and..."

"Naturally assumed?" said Mr. Schuester, frowning. "That is the last natural assumption a person could make about any of you. You listen here guys: You are _not_ freaks. You guys are the most talented, unique people I know."

"Yeah, Rachel," said Finn quickly, "we're not freaks. We're like superheroes!"

"_Superheroes?_" said Mike. "What? Like we fight _crime?_"

"No, man. We just – like – we just have these awesome superpowers and we keep our identities hidden. We're like comic book heroes." said Finn.

"Dude that is _so. Awesome_." said Sam, eyes wide, "we should totally become superheroes! We'd be like the Justice league!"

"_Hell yes!_" said Mike.

"I am so in," said Tina, "I don't have to be a comic book nerd to know superheroes are awesome."

"I want to be a kitty cat." Said Brittany, and everyone paused for a moment to stare at her. There was an immediate barrage of excited conversation.

"Woah, woah, _guys!_" said Mr. Schuester, waving his arms for silence, "you guys are not going out to fight crime. It's dangerous and there are police for that."

"Aw, c'mon, Mr. Schue." Drawled Santana, "Like you said, we're _gifted_. Criminals wouldn't stand a chance against us. We're more of a danger to them than they are to us, especially if they were to meet Auntie Snicks."

Everybody nodded emphatically.

"Santana's right," said Quinn. She was leaning against one of the kitchenette's counter, levitating an orb of water from the sink. "You always tell us that we're special and talented, and that we can be good and not evil. It's all a very nice idea and whatever, but isn't this a way for us to prove that? That we can stop crime and not perpetrate it?"

"Using our powers for the forces of good." grinned Sam.

And it just snowballed from there. It felt good, finally, to be doing something useful. To prove to the world – even in secret – that they were more than just violent fiends. They could prove that their powers weren't something to be ashamed of, or scared of. That they had a purpose in the world beyond destruction.

Kurt and Mercedes made them costumes, Mike taught them Kung-Fu. Santana taught them self-defense, and the art of picking locks. Finn and Mike would listen to their football jock friends, trying to get as much information about the underworld as possible (this was where Finn's friendship with Noah Puckerman became particularly useful). Tuesdays and Thursdays became practice days, as they learned to harness their powers for better use in hand to hand combat.

Mr. Schuester also fully utilised his mysterious network of strangers and acquaintances to find them Artie Abrams. "Fully capable and totally trustworthy" was what Mr. Schuester had called him. By day, just another band geek and AV nerd, Artie Abrams was a veritable prodigy with technology. Suddenly he had bugs all over Lima, gathering information from almost everywhere. They had hi-tech equipment for surveillance and reconnaissance. He could also rap like a mother.

The police could never be sure how it was that highly wanted criminals would end up mysteriously on their doorstep, and they didn't have the ungrateful enough to bother asking.

And suddenly they weren't just a bunch of freaks and misfits anymore. Suddenly they weren't hiding from the world like wounded animals. They were making a difference.

They were heroes.


	3. Chapter Two: The Lonely Hero

A/N: Hey guys! Here's the new chapter, which I managed to write a lot quicker than I expected. Writer's Block, I have defeated thee!

Anyways, thanks so much for the reviews! The whole point of this was to retrain myself into writing regularly and your feedback (both good and bad) is very very welcome. I can take criticism ;) Also, if anyone knows anything about the intricacies of running for congress and all that's involved, feel free to inbox me! I'm from Australia and have no idea what I'm doing.

Special shoutout to the oh-so talented LilyHarperKnox for all her helpful tips and encouragement! I literally never would have written this without her.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or X-Men. I don't even have superpowers.

* * *

><p>A startling flash of instant cold.<p>

"_Nerd!_"

Rachel Berry froze in horror, red slushie dripping from her face and staining her sweater. She could hear the jocks laughing behind her as they continued onto practice. _Plebeians_, she thought to herself angrily, wiping slushie from her eyes with whatever dignity remained. _Talentless plebeians_.

She'd been fostering the hope of getting through the day unscathed, but even though last bell had rung and she'd been on her way out the door she knew it to be a mistake. Placing her hope in her untalented peers would only lead to disappointment. Shaking her head, Rachel hurried to the bathroom to wash away the slushie. Of course they had to strike this late _today_ - a Thursday - a day on which she had somewhere else to be. Now, however, she was going to be late. Again.

As she scrubbed her face with damp paper towel, she allowed a moment of self-pity. She'd been hoping to give Finn a pep-talk before practice, but now she was almost certainly not going to make it. She'd grown to love the New Directions meetings infinitely more since she and Finn had started dating; she could still remember a time when the idea of ever falling in love had been virtually non-existent. Where was she to find someone like her? Someone she could trust with her secrets? And then there was New Directions. More specifically, then there was _Finn_. A boy just as secretive and 'unconventional' as herself.

She had almost allowed herself to get carried away in her luck until she heard a voice behind her:

"Need any help?"

She spun around, startled, before she recognised who it was. "Kurt," she said, "You're not supposed to be in here!"

"Everyone's gone home." He shrugged. "And it's not like I've never been in the girl's bathroom before."

"Yes, I am perfectly aware; but if we're seen together in it'll raise suspicions. _Go away_." Rachel turned back to the mirror and began wiping her face with a wet paper towel. They both knew she was right: they shouldn't be talking in public. There was plenty of time later for chatting and commiseration over the ills of slushies to the face (and to marvel over a certain boyfriend of hers), but in school especially, they may as well not know each other. They _couldn't_ know each other. All they needed was one person to put two and two together and they were done for. Rachel knew she was right. But Kurt still looked troubled.

He turned his gaze to the floor for a moment, uncertain. After a moment he seemed to come to whatever decision he seemed to have been making and said conversationally: "You know, you're not going to get that dye off with just water."

Rachel just sniffed and continued scrubbing. She would have to ignore him until he left: _I wonder if I can convince Finn to take me out on a date...Is it too soon? I fully realise it's a big step to agree to be seen together. If I were to be arrested I can't expect him to put himself under suspicion as an accessory. But Mike and Tina go out on dates. In public. So do Sam and Mercedes. Hell, even Santana and Brittany hold hands at school..._

"I have some moist towelettes in my bag." Kurt continued, breaking her reverie. Rachel paused in her scrubbing and gave him a calculating stare in the mirror. Why hadn't he left already? _What was he up to?_ Kurt stared back.

"Fine," She said finally, lifting her chin and returning her gaze back to her reflection. Kurt smiled slightly to himself in amusement and moved forward. The silence returned as Kurt pulled the towelettes from his messenger bag and began wiping the dye from her face. She watched him carefully, thinking. It wasn't until he'd almost finished that she spoke to him again.

"Why are you helping me?" She said softly.

"Why Rachel," he said, startled, "it's the right thing to do!"

Rachel didn't smile, "You know what I mean."

Kurt was quiet as he threw the last towelette into the bin. When he turned back to her, his expression was the same one he used when he passed her in the hallways. Distant. "We'd better hurry," he said, "I have it on good authority there's somewhere we both need to be."

And with that he was gone.

* * *

><p>Finn Hudson stood in the centre of the room, staring at the door.<p>

There were no windows in the painted cement walls. Only a stark white glow from the fluorescent ceiling lamps lit the scene. It could only be expected, for a room situated so firmly underground. It would look a little like a basement, or a bunker, were it not for the odd furnishings: plush couches slumped around a coffee table; an antique wooden dining suite and a candelabra; a grandfather clock stood ticking opposite the door; a glass cabinet filled with wooden collectables. Beside the door hung a large mirror. It almost appeared as though someone had transplanted an old woman's furniture into the middle of a government storage facility.

Above the door a loudspeaker crackled to life: "_Get ready Finn. You know what to do. Once the door opens, your objective is to get the flag and get out the door in one piece. And remember, this is every man for himself_."

Finn nodded, as though shaking off a fly. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He was born ready. He looked up at the sound of hinged creaking.

The door opened.

The door closed.

Finn smiled. He didn't need to see her to know she was there. "Hey, Tina."

"Hey yourself." He could pinpoint her voice, somewhere beside the coffee table. Yet, of course, she was nowhere to be seen. He slowly began to move forward towards the sound, eyes straining for some hint of movement. He needed to find the flag, but he knew he couldn't do it with Tina snooping around invisible. Last time, she'd snatched the damn thing right from his hands and slipped past everyone straight to the door. If he wanted to win, he was going to have to take her down.

Suddenly, he was flying forward, as though pushed from behind. He stumbled and wheeled around to face what appeared to be thin air.

"Looking for me?"

He spun around _again_, to see a fully visible Tina Cohen-Chang sitting on the furthest of the couches, grinning in amusement, with no hint of how she'd gotten there.

"Will you stop moving around so much?" Finn said exasperatedly.

"Every man for himself." Tina replied, and with a grin, she melted once again into thin air. She was like that cat from Alice in Wonderland, Finn thought.

"_Focus, Finn_." crackled the loudspeaker.

"I know!" Finn said, frustrated, "But it's hard to focus on something you can't see!"

"_I know the problem Finn. Find a solution_."

Finn sighed in frustration. He hated finding solutions. It was one of those things he'd never been particularly good at. Logic. Solutions. It was why he was so terrible at math.

"Okay, focus," He muttered under his breath, eyes darting around the room. If only there where a way he could make Tina a little more visible..._oh_.

* * *

><p>The members of New Directions sat around the observation room, watching Finn through the two-way mirror like a movie. Tina had just gone in, and, as usual, Finn was failing fast.<p>

"As much as I love watching Finn bumbling his way around the arena every practice," Santana said, "can we please get on with this? Trouty Mouth and I have a bet going as to whether I'm going to get the flag this time, and I'm keen to prove his ass wrong."

"_I'm keen to prove his ass wrong_" Sam mimicked, his face turning into what was quite literally a perfect replication of the cheerleader's (ponytail and all). "You wish Santana," he scoffed, face returning to normal as he turned back to Mercedes.

"We have a roster, guys," said Mr. Schue from his desk in front of the mirror. "Finn versus Tina, then Rachel's up next against Kurt. Santana and Sam next. End of story."

"Rachel's not here." said Santana. "I am not waiting around for that hobbit to get her ass in gear, or Kurt for that matter."

"We got visual on Kurt," Artie chimed in, looking up from his computer, "he's coming down the stairs."

Right on cue, the door beeped and slid open, to reveal a fashionably late and slightly disgruntled looking Kurt Hummel. "Sorry I'm late," he said tiredly, "Rachel got slushied, she's right behind me."

He flopped down onto the couch next to Mercedes. "About time," she joked, before turning back to talk to Sam. Kurt could remember a time long gone when his appearance by her side would have granted him more than two words, but that was before hormones and high school and _Oh my gosh Kurt, Sam just asked me out! I can't believe it, Kurt, what do I wear?_

In fact, he thought dully, it seemed like that with all of them really.

"He seriously cannot be that stupid." Said Quinn disbelievingly, drawing their attention back to the mirror. "He knows she's not there, right?"

Finn was slowly approaching the couch where he'd last seen Tina. She had long since, disappeared, of course, and was surely waiting right behind him.

"Sorry, sorry!" Rachel burst into the room, dropping her bag by the door and hurrying across the room, "I haven't missed my slot, have I?"

Santana opened her mouth to make some catty response when Finn spun around from the couch and –

WHAM!

There was a ripping noise. Suddenly, feathers filled the air around him, clinging to every surface. _Every surface._

Mike and Sam whooped as Tina shrieked, but it was too late. Finn dropped the couch cushion he'd been holding, the one he'd ripped in half like it were no more than tissue paper.

"Ha! Not so invisible now, are we?" He was backing away from the couches, waiting for the debris to settle. He could distinctly see now, the small, downy white feathers bobbing around of their own accord in the air. They were stuck to Tina's head, making her very clearly visible.

"Dammit, Finn!" she yelled.

Even Santana looked impressed.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the end of practice that Rachel brought it up.<p>

Kurt had been hoping she'd forget; in all of the excitement of their meetings people tended not to notice when you were feeling miserable. Today alone Mike had stretched himself like rope and tied Mercedes' arms together. She in turn had glared so much she accidentally shot lasers from her eyes and destroyed the china cabinet.

Kurt knew the general perception of Rachel in school: A girl too obsessed with herself and her talent to ever make any friends, but he knew it wasn't true. As self-absorbed as Rachel could be, he knew better than to expect her not to notice his behaviour lately. That whole slushie incident earlier had been a bad idea and he cursed himself for being so transparent.

"Hey Kurt," she said as he picked up his messenger bag. "Leaving so soon?"

She looked so pitying, standing there. And apologetic. Ugh, the last thing he needed was anyone's apologies. It wasn't _their_ fault they all got to live their Happily Ever Afters. Meanwhile, he was destined to be alone for the _rest of his life_.

Oh, dear. That sounded bitter.

"Dad's got some political gala in Westerville tomorrow night and his dragging us all with him." He sniffed instead, shouldering his bag and walking to the door. "I need to find him, Finn and I complete tux's. And I need to convince them both to wear 'em."

"Sounds fun," She said, trying to sound cheerful. Oh lord, was she going to follow him all the way home? He turned around.

"Look, Rach. I have to go. Finn's waiting for me, and we can't exactly walk out together. _No hanging out in public_, remember?" He'd hoped that didn't sound to scornful, but Rachel bit her lip and looked away.

"Look, Kurt," She said, her voice soft, "I get it, okay? I get why you'd be upset. I'd be upset too: Everyone's hooking up and you feel like a third wheel. But it's not forever, Kurt. You'll find someone, too –"

Kurt scoffed, "Yeah, Rachel. I'm sure there are plenty of guys who want to date a violent gay monster like me. I hear setting yourself on fire is a very attractive quality nowadays."

Rachel looked positively heartbroken. He gave her a pleading look, "I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to make you feel bad, but we both know it's true."

"You just seem so miserable all the time, Kurt." She said, "and I know I get side-tracked easily but I should be spending more time with you than obsessing over Finn. In fact, when was the last time we had an actual conversation? You know, I honestly can't remember! How come you haven't started hating me yet? I'm being a terrible friend and I'm really very sorry-"

She was rambling. "It's fine, Rachel!' he hissed, placing his hands on her shoulders and shaking her. "Really."

He turned to walk away, and tried to convince himself that everything she'd said wasn't one hundred percent true.

* * *

><p>It was getting late and almost everybody had left when Artie first saw it.<p>

"Mr. Schue?" He called over his shoulder, face falling into a slight frown, "I think you should take a look at this."

Mr. Schuester turned from where he was talking to Brittany, who had casually started reciting the entire Periodic Table (he'd made the mistake of referencing Dmitri Mendeleev in passing). "What is it?" he asked, looking over Artie's shoulder.

"One of the opponents running against Mr. Hummel for Congress." He replied, hitting play.

The video onscreen began to play. The man on the screen was handsome, his dark hair, smattered with silver, and bright blue eyes. He had a sombre demeanour, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he stared straight into the camera.

"This year alone, over three hundred mutants were discovered and arrested living in Ohio." He began, "posing threats to the lives of our children, our neighbours and our elderly. Three hundred this year alone."

"My grandma was arrested for being a mutant," said Brittany suddenly, "but she wasn't really. Her false teeth only _looked_ pointy."

Artie and Mr. Schuester shushed her.

"Where is our government?" the video continued, "Where is our current representative Burt Hummel? Why are they not doing enough to protect our children?

"I'm Brom Anderson, and I'm here to say: It's time for _change_."


	4. Chapter Three: Fate

**A/N: This one goes out to all the Klainers in the room... ;)**

**Again, special thanks to Lily Harper Knox for being magical. Also, I do not own Glee, or X-Men. Or Macy's.**

* * *

><p>"Finn? Are you dressed yet?"<p>

Kurt nudged open the door with his shoulder, careful not to spill the warm milk he was holding. It was late Thursday night, and Kurt was just about ready to curl up in bed and sleep for days. Aside from his downright _painful_ conversation with Rachel earlier, Kurt had spent one half of the afternoon running around getting tuxes, and then the other convincing Finn and his father to try them on. Burt was still grumbling about it to Carole downstairs.

"How do I look?" said Finn, turning from the mirror with a grin. Kurt put Finn's milk on the table and perched himself on the edge of the bed. It had been relatively easy to convince Finn to at least try on the tuxedo once James Bond had been mentioned. His dark scowl had transformed into an excitement equal to that of a kid playing dress-ups.

"Your tie is crooked." Kurt pointed out.

Finn shrugged and turned back to the mirror. "Hudson," he said, "Finn Hudson."

Kurt smiled slightly as he watched his step-brother make an idiot of himself, now winking into the mirror with a jaunty smile. After so many hours spent having Rachel talk his ear off about Finn, Kurt found it a lot easier to tolerate his brother's silliness. He wasn't just Kurt's awkwardly tall step-brother to her. It was strange to see the way Rachel looked at him, like he was the greatest thing in her world. Watching her watch Finn made Kurt feel warm inside. It made him feel empty, too. And a little jealous.

"Hey Finn?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Why haven't you gone public with Rachel yet?"

Finn turned around, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Like, why haven't you asked her on a date outside of New Directions?" Kurt expanded, "You've been obsessed with each other for over three months now, and you aren't breaking up anytime soon. Why haven't you asked her out?"

"Oh." said Finn. They were silent for a little bit. His football clock ticked loudly. "Huh." He added.

"I mean, I get the risks and all," Kurt continued swiftly, "It's not like dating some cheerio for a week. If one of you gets caught as a mutant the other is immediately at risk of being investigated. But really, what are the chances of that ever happening?"

"I know, Kurt." said Finn quickly. He shook his head, "It's not that."

Kurt frowned, "Then what is it?"

Finn shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. The little kid playing dress-ups had transformed into the little kid caught doing something naughty: "It's just, well ... Rachel's _Rachel_," Finn said, "And I'm ... _me_."

Finn looked at Kurt expectantly. Kurt looked back. The ticking football clock filled the silence.

This was pointless. "Well thank you, Finn. That really clears it up." Kurt said finally, standing up and straightening his clothes. It was late and he was tired, and _really_, why did he even bother? He'd had a long day and there was the political gala tomorrow...

"What would my friends think?"

Kurt paused on his way to the door. He did _not_ just hear that.

"What?" he said, turning around. He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything in the first place.

"What would my friends think?" Finn repeated. He looked almost desperate, like he needed the answer to live. "Puck? Azimio? They wouldn't treat me the same. It's one thing to date a cheerleader, you know, but Rachel is ... Rachel's different. She's not one of the group and she'd just make everything awkward."

The first thing Kurt felt was disbelief, because as great as Finn was sometimes he could be really obtuse. But the disbelief soon gave way to something else entirely:

The second thing Kurt felt (and this was unexpected) was _anger_.

Suddenly everything that had been building throughout the day – no, throughout the _year_ – felt like it was about to burst in his throat; spew out his mouth and his eyes and his ears due to the injustice of it all. Watching his friends falling in love around him, clawing down the loneliness and the burning behind his eyes. And suddenly here Finn was, with absolutely _everything_. _Everything_ Kurt had ever wanted.

And he didn't even give a damn.

"But you love her." Kurt said. His voice was soft; any louder and it would be trembling.

"Of course I do." Said Finn, with what sounded like relief; Kurt was finally getting it.

Kurt stared at Finn. "You love her, but you're keeping her some dirty little secret from your friends." His voice was definitely trembling now. "You've found a girl who you love, and who _loves you back_, and you're worried about _Azimio_?"

He hadn't noticed his voice rising as he spoke, but Finn had. Kurt knew what he was thinking: they'd been brothers long enough to recognise a good old-fashioned Hummel-Hudson-sibling-rivalry when they saw one. Finn hated it when Kurt got scathing. He said it made him feel inadequate. And when Kurt got scathing, he didn't care.

"I'm not just going to sacrifice my friendships and my social life just to spend time with Rachel at a restaurant when I see her all the time in practice!" said Finn angrily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not like there's some code that says we can't be together if I don't!"

"Uh, yes there is, _Finn_," Kurt shot back; "It's called _not being an awful boyfriend_."

"Oh, yeah?" said Finn, insulted, "what would you know anyway? You've never been a boyfriend! You wouldn't know a loving relationship if it hit you in the _face!_"

This time, the silence was punctuated by the sound of Finn's bedroom door slamming, and tearful footsteps disappearing down the hall.

* * *

><p>The Royal Hotel of Westerville's main ballroom glittered extravagantly, the light dancing off of tinkling champagne flutes and expensive jewellery. A harp was playing in the corner of the room, just audible over the babbling murmur of conversation. Bubbling laughter echoed round the room as the guests mingled and made small-talk. The invited entered through polished oak doors, through an archway of patriotic balloons in blue, red and white...<p>

Blaine Anderson was bored.

No, he was _worse_ than bored because not only was he stiflingly uninterested by his surroundings, but he had to go along pretending that he wasn't. In fact, if he had to smile and shake another old man's hand _one more time_ he was going to scream. Or start giggling like a madman (which his father wouldn't appreciate).

He was _that bored_.

Not that he could say anything, of course. That wasn't what Blaine did. Blaine was _nice_. Blaine was _patient_. Blaine believed firmly in the idea that of you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say it at all. Of course, this meant that sometimes he went for rather long stretches of silence, but that was the price one had to pay for being generally likeable. And if Blaine was anything, it was generally likeable.

Maybe if he could just slip away outside...

"Ah, Brom Anderson! Good to see you here, old chap – how's the campaign going?"

Blaine groaned internally as yet another guest came up to greet his father. For such a serious guy, he seemed to have a hell of a lot of friends. It was quite tiresome, really, watching his father make small talk about the same things over and over again:

_So, running for congress, now Brom?_

_Yes, yes. Decided it's time to give the government a run for its money!_

_Well, if anyone can get this sorry leadership in order it's you, Brom! How's the business going...?_

Nobody ever said exactly what it was that made this leadership so 'sorry', and Blaine couldn't care to find out. As far as Blaine could tell, Ohio seemed in rather good shape, but to engage any one of his father's friends in a political discussion about it was a fate worse than death in his eyes. No, he would rather be elsewhere: alone in the garden just outside the ballroom doors. He was so close...

"And _Blaine_, good to see you, son! How's the singing coming along?"

Blaine let his hand be shaken as he plastered a charming smile on his face. His brain said: _I cannot for the life of me remember this man's name; _but his mouth said: "Oh, it's good sir, its good. It's a pleasure to see you!"

The man laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Likewise, son, likewise!" before nodding once more to Brom Anderson and walking away. Blaine knew what was coming next, and sure enough, another one of his father's 'friends' seemed to materialise out of the crowd. Before the man could approach, Blaine leaned over to his father and muttered, "Excuse me," before slipping away towards the ballroom's back doors. Before his father could argue, he was shaking hands with one of his colleagues, and Blaine was home free.

* * *

><p>Kurt hadn't spoken to Finn all of Friday. The drive to and from school had been entirely silent, and Kurt hadn't even commented before the Gala that Finn's tie was still crooked; Carole had had to straighten it for him. So the last thing Kurt felt like doing at the moment was going to some drawn out event with his family, where he'd have to smile politely and pretend to be happy for his dad's sake. What he <em>did<em> feel like doing was setting his room on fire, but that was probably a bad idea.

Kurt, Finn and Carole stood idly beside Burt as he greeted his colleagues and friends (Carole had to slap Finn's hand away from the champagne every now and then). Burt seemed to have an amazing way with his fellow politicians and colleagues: Kurt could tell that none of the smiles were fake and all the conversations friendly. He wasn't naive enough to believe this was always the case in politics. He only had to glance at the other conversations in the room to see that. Half the guests looked at one another like warring shoppers at a _Macy's_ sale.

As proud of his dad as Kurt was, all he really wanted was to be alone. Finn's words from last night were spinning around in his head, and no matter how many times Finn apologised, they wouldn't go away.

_You wouldn't know a loving relationship if it hit you in the face..._

It made Kurt's head ache. It made his heart hurt: the fact that any love that could ever be directed at him would be conditional. Any normal boy would never truly love him – hand him to the authorities if they discovered his secret, yes – but truly love him? No.

He needed some air. Hoping to find a place where he could finally be alone in peace, Kurt quietly slipped away from his family, and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

><p>The air outside was cool and frigid, cutting into Blaine's skin as he stepped out into the garden. The warmth and noise of the ballroom disappeared into another dimension, leaving him with nothing but the cool air and moonlight. The garden of the Royal Hotel had been designed to resemble something out of a fairytale, a maze of trimmed hedges, lanterns and cobblestone pathways. Blaine looked out across the sloping lawn towards the cast iron archway that marked the entrance to the garden. The twisting and turning labyrinth began here; curving its way around fountains and garden benches; trees dripping with fairy-lights; hidden alcoves filled with promises.<p>

Blaine took a deep breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wondered how many of the guests had already taken up the opportunity to use those hidden alcoves, but then quickly stopped thinking about it. Half of the guests were his parent's age. Gross. With a small sigh, Blaine strolled towards the archway and into the cool green air of the maze garden. Turning left, he wandered down the cobblestones, his fingers skimming for a moment over the tall shrubbery on either side of him. He wasn't sacred of getting lost. Aside from the small wooden signs dotting every intersection, pointing towards the exit, there was also the fact that he had every inch of this maze committed to memory.

If anything, to Blaine this was the one major perk of having his father join politics. Just being out here, in the calm stillness, almost made everything worth it: the boring state dinners, his snotty classmates at Dalton, or his father's scowling face – it all seemed to melt away in here. He wasn't "_Blaine Anderson: Generally Likeable" _here. He wasn't the lead soloist in the Warblers, or Brom Anderson's son. It was just him and his thoughts.

That is, until he casually turned a corner and-

"Oh, sorry!"

"Oh, gosh, pardon me! That was my fault..."

The first thing Blaine noticed was his voice: It was soft and musical; and it was the first time he'd ever heard anyone say 'pardon me' on instinct. The second thing he noticed was the lantern light. Or more specifically, the way it was glowing on the boy's pale skin.

For the person Blaine had almost knocked over was a boy; one who appeared to be his age, with a musical voice and glowing pale skin. And wide blue eyes, and...

He then realised the boy was saying something.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said quickly. He sounded breathless, _why did he have to sound so breathless?_

"You're – you're holding onto my arm." The boy repeated, a blush creeping to his face. He looked apologetic.

Oh. Oops.

"Sorry!" Blaine said, letting go like he'd been burned. His face was scorching. "Sorry, I didn't realise."

"That's okay." The boy giggled. _He giggled_. Blaine wasn't sure if it was the light, or just the whole garden in general, that made him look so magical. He was tall and slim, dressed in a black tuxedo, his hair perfectly coiffed. He took a moment to realise that he was staring again and that neither of them had moved aside, nor spoken. Because the boy was staring at him too.

"My name's Blaine," he said after a while.

"Kurt." The boy replied softly. He was smiling shyly and his eyes seemed to be sparkling. From the look on Kurt's face, Blaine wondered if his own eyes were sparkling too. He felt like it.

"A bit crowded inside, isn't it?" He said lightly and the boy nodded vigorously:

"A ballroom filled with that many vindictive, back-stabbing guests? it's like a game of Cluedo waiting to happen."

Blaine snorted indelicately, what little charm he'd managed to maintain completely disappearing. "I suppose that's politics." He said.

"That's politics," Kurt agreed softly, looking away in the direction of the ballroom. "To be honest, I just wanted to be alone for a while, you know?"

Blaine could feel himself wilting. "Oh, well – if you want me to leave, I can go..." his words seemed to fail him. He'd known this was too good to be true, and now he was wasting the time of a boy who probably didn't even want to speak to anyone, let alone him.

Kurt looked at him alarmed, his blue eyes widening, "Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that, not at all!"

"But it is okay -"

"_Blaine_."

It was odd to hear Kurt saying his name. He rather liked it. Kurt had grabbed onto his hand, as though ready to drag him back to their conversation. "Please stay?" He said, his voice quiet. He looked at Blaine and Blaine looked back. They didn't have to say anything to know precisely what the other was feeling.

Blaine stayed.

Kurt smiled again, and didn't let go of his hand. "We can keep walking," he said, nervously, breaking the tension that had formed like a layer of ice over the conversation.

Blaine didn't reply; he wasn't sure his voice was working anymore. They continued quietly along the path Blaine had been following. He felt like his head was spinning, or like he'd fallen into a dream. He was walking hand in hand with a beautiful stranger he'd only just met, and he wasn't afraid at all. He glanced over at Kurt; the boy had his gaze trained to the ground, like he couldn't believe what was happening either. He glanced quickly at Blaine to see that he was staring at him. They both looked away quickly before chuckling.

"So, _Blaine_," Kurt said it slowly, like he was still getting used to the name, "Where in Ohio are you from?"

Blaine glanced to his left, where an ornate bench stood in a small alcove. He led Kurt towards it and they sat down. Blaine realised belatedly that they were still holding hands.

"I'm from here," Blaine answered, gesturing vaguely around them, "born and raised Westerville boy. You?"

He had a sudden feeling of dread that Kurt was going to tell him he lived in Portsmouth or something, but Kurt smiled. "Lima." He replied.

Blaine couldn't hide his grin. "That's pretty close by," he said, leaning forward slightly, closer to Kurt.

"Yes it is," Kurt replied. This time _he_ sounded breathless, and Blaine's head was definitely spinning now. He wasn't sure how his brain could possibly be functioning, but he could hear himself speaking: "We could hang out sometime." Ugh, because _that _wasn't desperate.

Kurt stared at him, his eyes widening again. It made Blaine want to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Everything had been _so_ perfect, and he had just ruined it.

"I'd like that," Kurt said finally. It was Blaine's turn to stare.

"You would?"

Kurt nodded, and suddenly he was smirking, "Yes, Blaine. I would. Don't act so surprised."

"I wouldn't act so surprised if I wasn't so surprised," said Blaine. "You really want to see me again?"

"No," the other boy replied sarcastically, "I've just been leading you on this whole time."

Blaine snapped his fingers, "I _knew _it! This has all been part of your devious plot!"

Kurt actually laughed, "The one to rule the world?"

"Precisely."

And suddenly everything was easier. They were talking, now, and not bumbling nervously. Blaine found himself gushing about music and Dalton and even fashion (a passion he had never outright mentioned to anyone). And Kurt was talking back, smiling and joking and laughing easily. Kurt was easily one of the most unusual people he'd ever met: he spoke like a character from a Sixties movie, he loved both fashion _and_ auto-mechanics, and he seemed to make the oddest references at the most inopportune times. It seemed that as he'd think of something, he'd say it. And with every little fact and admission that fell from Kurt's mouth, Blaine found himself more and more intrigued at how this boy's mind _worked_. He was fascinated. He almost felt _excited_.

Neither of them was sure how long they'd been sitting before another one of the guests walked past, his footsteps breaking their reverie.

"What time is it?" Said Kurt, alarmed. Blaine looked at his watch. It was almost midnight.

"_Shit_." He said. His father would be looking for him.

"We should go," said Kurt. Blaine nodded dully, and suddenly everything was back to normal; they were back in the real world filled with politics and parents and everything else. But when he looked over, Kurt was still Kurt, the boy he now felt like he'd known his entire life. The real world still appeared the same, but at the same time everything was so different. It was only when Kurt stood up that Blaine realised they hadn't let go of each other's hands.

"Wait!" He said quickly, "what's your number?"

They switched phones and added in their own details. When they were done Kurt looked up at him breathlessly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "I'll see you around?" he said. He looked hopeful.

"Definitely," said Blaine.

Kurt smiled and hesitated for a moment. "Bye." He said quickly, and before Blaine knew it Kurt was gone, hurrying back down the path and out of sight.

Blaine looked down at the phone in his hands, his new contact the only proof that what had just happened was real. It read: _Kurt Hummel_.

Hummel. Blaine had heard his father spit that name like poison often enough to immediately recognise it. He had just fallen head over heels for the son of Burt Hummel, his father's arch nemesis.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, Klaine is here, finally! Now the story can really begin...<strong>

**Reviews are my inspiration, so feel free to leave one - I'd love to hear your thoughts! I also have a Tumblr for Klaine-flailing and procrastination, which you can check out: triedtolie dot tumblr dot com.**

**As well as all that, Lily made me some amusing fan art which is awesome and made my year. It even serves as a nifty guide for remembering everyone's superpowers:**

**andthedirtisgone DOT tumblr DOT com / post / 19562771882 / my-amazing-fan-art-for-triedtolie-my-artistic**


	5. Chapter Four: Conditions

**A/N: Hooray for a new chapter, in which we learn more about Blaine's life, and the lengths he and Kurt will go to for one another.**

**Again, thanks for all your amazing reviews - I love hearing from you – and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

_**Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor X-Men.**_

* * *

><p>Kurt was always cold.<p>

Ever since he was little, his mother would bundle him into jumpers, scarves, jackets, gloves. She would turn up the shower water until it was scolding; sit him by heaters or next to the oven. She'd lie awake at night, hugging him close to her chest, rubbing small circles on his back as he shivered. She'd look helplessly up at her husband standing in the door, watching her vain attempts to get her son warm. But try as she might, she would always hear the same thing, over and over: "Mommy, I'm cold. Mommy I'm so cold. Mommy it's freezing. I'm so cold." And every night, her husband would take her by the hand and put her to bed before wrapping his son in dozens of blankets, praying that nothing was wrong, and that it would all just go away. They'd been scared, his parents. They'd known something was wrong with him. If they could just get him to warm up, maybe it would go away.

It didn't. The day he first caught fire was the worst day of his life.

* * *

><p>As Blaine stood alone in the maze garden, phone still clutched in his hand, he supposed Kurt had always been too good to be true: Good things never happened to him, so of course the one guy he'd ever fallen for had to be the one guy he could never have. His father barely even tolerated him being <em>gay<em>, let alone acting on it. Let alone acting on it with Kurt _Hummel_, Burt Hummel's teenage son. Yet everything had seemed so perfect just seconds ago; and despite the nervous twisting in his stomach, Kurt's smile remained fixed in his head with no intention of leaving anytime soon.

_Does Kurt know who my father is? Was this all just some sick sort of revenge?_

As quickly as the thought entered Blaine's mind he was dismissing it: No, Kurt couldn't possibly have known. The nervous energy that was Kurt Hummel still lingered over him, just as sweet and genuine as it had been their whole encounter. Either Kurt honestly hadn't known who he was, or he was a brilliant and sadistic actor. But it couldn't be long until he found out, could it? _Or maybe he doesn't know about Brom Anderson at all?_ Blaine's optimism had kicked in. That would be nice. Blaine's father had only just announced his campaign, so perhaps Kurt didn't know about his plans to run against Mr. Hummel. _Maybe he doesn't care about politics at all? What their fathers do is their business, right? It doesn't have to matter to them..._

It was then that he realised he'd been standing alone for the past five minutes, and that his parents were still inside, probably waiting for him and probably irritated about it. Cursing under his breath, Blaine shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried out of the garden.

The ballroom was almost empty: only about two dozen guests remained, still chatting with one another and making their good-byes. Blaine spotted his parents immediately, standing by the doors with his father's campaign manager: Richard Smythe.

Mr. Smythe was a rather tall man – or at least he pretended to be. Nevertheless, he was always looking down on people. He was rather thickly built, but his movements were constant and agile. Even the warm smile on his face seemed ready to flicker into a smirk or a scowl. He had deep grey eyes, and silver-hair, peppered with a streak of ginger or two from his youth. Blaine had known Mr. Smythe ever since he could remember: In those days he'd simply been 'Uncle Ritch', back before Blaine was too old for his or his father's fondness. Back when they were still heroes incapable of bigotry or wrongdoing. As Brom Anderson's business partner in their law firm 'Anderson & Smythe', the two families had always been close. Some of Blaine's earliest memories were of himself sitting on Mr. Smythe's lap in their living room, playing with his tie.

Mr. Smythe and his father seemed to be talking excitedly, their heads bent towards one another, and their eyes gleaming. Blaine sighed heavily and strolled towards them, their murmurs becoming clearer as he approached: "... Yes, yes; tomorrow morning at the latest. This is the perfect opportunity; there couldn't be a better time." Mr. Smythe was saying, his voice low and excited. "It's been all over the news for the past half-hour. Apparently it's the biggest attack in Lima for over fifty years."

"Lima?" Brom repeated, his eyes flashing, "That's right in Hummel's backyard. We get the media on this and we can _hammer_ him."

"Precisely." Nodded Smythe: "It's earlier than planned, but tomorrow's press conference couldn't be a better time to start on your campaign strategy. People fear mutants as it is, but now? They'll be looking to have those things exterminated by 2020. And they'll be looking for a leader who's willing to do that." He poked a finger at Brom's chest.

Blaine felt his stomach sink. His father was practically planning Burt Hummel's demise here, and when Kurt found out they were related he was going to _hate _Blaine.

"What happened in Lima?" he asked his mother, feigning an interest that wasn't there.

His mother turned to him in surprise before frowning and clicking her tongue, "Blaine! Where have you been? We've missed you all evening. Honestly, you may as well have not even come."

"Sorry," he muttered quickly, although he wasn't, "I was just in the garden. Lost track of time. What happened in Lima that's so important?"

His mother gave him a disapproving look before she answered. "Teenage mutant boy went wild and set a bunch of flesh-eating plants on people at the Lima mall this afternoon. Absolute carnage – it apparently took four police units to take the thing down. Dozens were wounded, it seems."

Blaine paled, "That's terrible." He said.

"Awful." His mother agreed, nodding. "Absolutely awful."

Blaine was no stranger to the horrors of mutant kind. He'd seen enough news headlines about their attacks, he knew of families who'd had to give their children away for showing signs of mutation. His own grandfather had been killed by a mutant: a police van thrown into the air and landing on his car, crushing him. It terrified him to think that there were such horrors roaming out there: vastly powerful beings just killing mindlessly. Fearsome creatures that passed themselves as humans, before turning on everyone around them and committing murder.

"Blaine? How nice of you to finally join us!" His father's icy voice cut into his thoughts. Startled, Blaine turned to look at his father. Brom Anderson was frowning at him, thoroughly unimpressed. "Care to explain?"

"Sorry," Blaine repeated, "I was in the garden and lost track of time." It was an innocent enough answer, but his father was already irritated and not inclined to let it go. He just sighed loudly and turned back to Mr. Smythe, who hadn't left. "See you tomorrow, Ritch." He said, and strode off towards the doors. Blaine followed along with his mother, and allowed his thoughts to drift once more to earlier in the evening. It didn't matter so much that his father was angry with him, or that mutants were out there attacking people, because by the time the Andersons were in their car and driving home, Blaine was far away from it all, back in the maze garden beside Kurt, where nothing was wrong and no one could hurt him.

* * *

><p><em>The press room was filled with the clicking and flashing of cameras and the excited babble of reporters. Blaine found himself sitting in the front row before the stage, watching as his father approached the podium. The crowd was roaring with noise, and Blaine could see his father speaking, but he couldn't seem to hear the words. And yet his father's message was crystal clear in his mind, and the audience seemed to be roiling with excitement and agreement:<em>

"_We meet here today in grievous circumstances," his father called out to the press, spreading his arms wide, "I am here today to announce the death of my beloved father, at the hands of Burt Hummel! The man has killed my father, and he's going to kill us all!"_

_Blaine hadn't noticed Mr. Hummel until now, standing on the stage opposite his father. His face was stern angry, and the crowd was shouting and booing. "He's going to kill us all!" Blaine's father repeated, but Mr. Hummel just smiled._

"_But there's nothing wrong with Ohio." The man said, gesturing around them. All of a sudden, there was a large garden of plants behind the podium and Blaine wasn't sure how they got there. They were writhing in the soil, though, and someone began to scream._

_Blaine was running. They were all running. His heart was pounding with fear. His legs wouldn't move fast enough. There were leaves all over the floor. He could feel the branches and vines on his heels. There were people everywhere, dressed in their dinner things. People were screaming. He couldn't see his father anywhere. He didn't recognise anyone until –_

_Blaine had turned into the ballroom now, because he needed to get to the garden. Everyone was running to the garden for safety... and suddenly, Blaine glimpsed him through the crowd and time stopped: Kurt Hummel was up ahead, standing by the garden doors. He was searching through the crowd, lost, his eyes wide with fear. And a terrible feeling settled in the pit of Blaine's stomach, a foreboding so strong it almost stung behind his eyes._

"_Kurt!" Blaine called, but his voice didn't seem to be working. He called again but realised, horrified, that he couldn't make a sound. He could see Kurt hesitating, turning to leave and run into the garden. Away from him. Blaine could feel the panic rising in his chest and he immediately followed._

_He watched as Kurt turned and fled through the iron archway - into the maze - and Blaine was outside now, following him. The maze was empty, and everything seemed oddly bright and cold. He could see Kurt at the end of the lane, flitting around the corner and deeper into the labyrinth. Blaine knew he had to catch him; something awful would happen if he didn't. "Kurt!" He called. His voice still wasn't working and he began to run. He caught a glimpse of Kurt as the boy disappeared around another corner, further and further away from him and his eyes were stinging. He just needed to call to him, to stop him –_

_He turned the corner and came to the centre of the maze, the pinnacle, where all the pathways met. He almost never came here; there were always too many people, attracted by the majesty of the garden's inner sanctum. But he recognised the fountain: It was an immense gothic structure, made of stone and marble, which measured about eighteen feet in diameter. Water bubbled furiously from the carved floral centrepiece, into the basin below. It sounded like the rushing roar of a waterfall._

_Kurt was there, standing on the raised edge of the fountain, facing away from him._

_He was looking down into the water, and Blaine felt himself shiver. His heart was pounding and the sky was dark. "Kurt, get away from there!" He said, hurrying towards the edge. Kurt looked down at him blankly and didn't say anything. Blaine grabbed at his hand, making to pull him away, but suddenly he was being forced onto the edge too, looking down into an impossibly deep pool of water. The sky grew darker and darker, and Blaine made to pull him and Kurt away, out of the maze. But Kurt wouldn't move. The plants around them started swaying frantically, as a heavy wind began to rise. "Kurt!" Blaine called, but the boy didn't seem to hear him. The wind was howling now, leaves and debris blowing in their faces, and the branches around them began to leap and dive, like the plants in the press room. They were pulling and snaking their way towards them but Blaine couldn't move, not without Kurt._

_And then he was being lurched forward, Kurt clutching his hand as they dove into the dark, churning water of the fountain. The cold water seemed to hit him like a fist, and they were immediately submerged. Everything was black and icy, the current immediately pulling them back and forth. He could see Kurt beside him, floating lifelessly in the gloom, his eyes staring listlessly around them. Blaine shut his own eyes and struggled in the surf. He began to panic. He needed to pull them to the surface, but he couldn't breath. His chest was aching and he wondered how Kurt could look so calm..._

Alone in his bedroom, Blaine woke with a start, the only darkness surrounding him being the darkness of the night.

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><p>Despite his irritation at Kurt's disappearance, Burt seemed to accept the story that he'd simply been wondering around the garden and lost track of time. Of course, Kurt made no mention of Blaine and (he thought numbly) he didn't have to – who would ever suspect him of sneaking around with a boy? Because deep down, Kurt knew that he shouldn't have. He knew that the responsible thing to have done would have been to let Blaine walk away, a stranger into the night. He knew that instead he had gotten himself into a very dangerous game.<p>

Yet at the same time, Kurt was tired. No, he was _exhausted_, and Finn's words were still buzzing in his head, louder than ever:_ You wouldn't know a loving relationship if it hit you in the face._ And every time he heard it, Kurt found himself caring less and less about the risks; and more and more about Blaine. He was tired of being lonely, and he was angry at everyone and everything that had made it so. The empty feeling in his chest seemed to have erupted into flames during his fight with Finn, and Kurt couldn't control it. And then he'd met Blaine, and none of it had mattered. Suddenly every rational thought in his head was burning to a cinder, every argument that had ever told him he wasn't allowed to love. Suddenly none of it had seemed important anymore, because Blaine had appeared right there in front of him and everything had made sense. The empty feeling was gone, and Blaine had taken its place. The first thing Kurt had seen of him were his eyes, golden-hazel and bright, staring at him the way Rachel stared at Finn: like he was the greatest thing in the world. And they had sat together, and they had talked for hours, and the entire time Kurt's heart had felt like it was about to explode. It wasn't like talking to Rachel, or to Mercedes. Their conversation had felt deeper, more stimulating, and it had felt _honest_. Kurt knew that to an outsider it could be explained away by hormones, or lust. But it hadn't felt that way. There had been no flirting, no suggestion of anything more than the fascination of one mind for another.

And then the cold reality had hit him like gunfire: the reality that Blaine Anderson would never love him. Because the ache in Kurt's chest couldn't change what he really was, and no matter how much he could try to hide it, the truth would never change: Kurt Hummel was a monster, and no one could ever know. And he knew the charade couldn't last forever, just as much as he and Blaine couldn't. Because one day Kurt would have to stop lying, and on that day Blaine would stop loving him and he'd be as good as dead.

And as much as Kurt knew that it wouldn't last, how surely he knew that it would only lead to heartbreak, he didn't want to let Blaine go. He didn't want to face that emptiness inside of him just yet - knowing that this time it would be permanent, and there would be nobody to fill it ever again. And the saying: that '_it is better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all_' seemed to him, to make perfect sense.

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><p>Blaine shivered as his feet hit the cold tiled floors of the kitchen. The only light came from the numbers on the microwave, reflecting off the dark marble counters and stainless steel appliances. He was still shaking from his nightmare as he shuffled towards the fridge and poured himself a glass of water. He'd placed his phone upon the counter, and as he sipped he couldn't tear his eyes from it. Placing his glass in the sink, Blaine turned to pick it up. Before he could stop and think, the text had been sent and it was too late:<p>

_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Can I see you tomorrow?<em>

He stood silently for a moment, listening to the whirring of the fridge and the hum of electricity, as though expecting Kurt to answer back. So when his phone buzzed in his hand, he almost had a heart attack. He unlocked his phone and stared at the reply:

_From: Kurt Hummel  
>Meet me at the Lima Bean at 2?<em>

Blaine could feel the warmth returning to his limbs as he read Kurt's reply. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Kurt was awake too, and maybe even thinking about him, that made him feel so much calmer all of a sudden. He tapped out his affirmative and sent it to Kurt. The darkness of the kitchen didn't seem so sinister anymore, and Blaine found himself smiling slightly as he made his way up the stairs towards his room. He was going to see Kurt tomorrow; he would tell him about his father and they could talk about it. They would fix it together, and work it all out. The anxiety in Blaine's chest had transformed into hope, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

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><p>It was three-thirty in the morning and Kurt couldn't sleep. His head was buzzing with white noise and guilt and Blaine. He knew he shouldn't have replied to the text, but he had anyway. It was pointless believing he wouldn't have – he was in too deep. He stared up at his ceiling: a small orange orb floated languidly above his head, the fire flickering softly and casting ever-moving shadows over the walls. It tilted and twirled, and Kurt wondered whether if he stared at it long enough, his thoughts would just melt away like burning paper and he'd fall asleep. Because if he fell asleep, maybe he wouldn't have to admit to himself that when he had held hands with Blaine Anderson, for the first time in his life he hadn't felt so cold.<p>

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><p><strong>And so ends Chapter Four.<strong>

**Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think :D your thoughts inspire me like you wouldn't believe!**

**Also, check out the freaking hilarious fan art for this chapter, by the wonderful Lily Harper Knox:**

**andthedirtisgone dot tumblr dot com/post/20032676453/another-fan-art-for-the-fanfic-monster-by**

**It gives me all the giggles.**


	6. Chapter Five: Of Enemies and Alliances

**Hey guys! Who's up for some angst and adorable?  
>Also, thank you for all your amazing reviews (you are all awesome) and special thanks to Lily Harper Knox, without whom this story would not exist!<strong>

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I don't own X-Men.**

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><p>When Kurt finally made his way downstairs on Saturday morning, it was to find the rest of his family huddled in the living room, glaring at the TV.<p>

"I cannot believe this." Burt was saying, "I cannot believe he's getting away with this; how could they even listen to him? He's spreading lies! How can they not see that?"

"Shh, calm down Burt. It'll be okay." Carole murmured.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked, running his hand through his mop of bed-head and sitting down next to Finn. It had been a rough night last night, Kurt having only fallen asleep sometime after three am. Needless to say, his coffee date with Blaine at two would be most welcome, and not just for seeing the boy.

"Look for yourself," Finn muttered, clearly displeased as he gestured towards the television. It was then that Kurt actually took the time to watch what was going on. It seemed to be some sort of press conference: a middle-aged man with dark hair and a suit was standing behind the podium, and in front of an American flag, looking down at the press with serious eyes. Kurt scanned the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen and felt his blood freeze:

**Political candidate Brom Anderson:**_ "My heart goes out to all those needlessly killed in last night's mutant attack."_

"Mister Anderson," a reporter was speaking, "Ann Beckett for the 'Lima Daily': In light of the attack last night, you say you place responsibility directly upon current congressman Hummel. What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, Ann," Mr. Anderson said seriously, "it's really quite simple. It is the responsibility of our leaders and politicians to do what's right by their people. They have the power to develop legislation for the benefit of our nation's safety. And right now, our leadership just _isn't doing enough_. The attack last night is irrefutable proof of the fact that congressman Hummel has been neglecting our protection against mutant attacks. It's not enough that we should be asked to rely on the discretion of the parents to turn over these monsters to the authorities. We cannot rely on tip-offs against them. It should not be so easy for so many of these mutants to just slip through the system until it's too late. And yet where are the added precautions? Why has nothing been done to stop this? Why has nothing been _done_ to protect our people from the threat that faces us?

"Too many times these monsters are left to their own devices, or abandoned by parents instead of exterminated by the authorities. These monsters are allowed to live and grow amongst _us_ until they're strong enough to rampage and attack innocent Americans. We need a system that can track them down and kill them _before _they endanger our lives – not _after_. And that's where our leaders have failed us. They have failed in their responsibilities to _protect_ us, to _guard_ us, and to _rid _us of these violent monsters once and for all."

Kurt was vaguely aware of the reporters next question – something about Anderson's plans for mutant control should he be voted for congress – but he couldn't for the life of him hear the answer. He was too busy staring blankly at the man onscreen, his name in unforgiving bold print at the bottom of the screen, and trying to keep his head from spinning so fast at the revelation. Kurt had the sudden distinct sensation of one who's had the floor suddenly disappear from beneath him. He was dimly aware that Burt was talking again, gesturing madly at the screen, but he couldn't quite focus. Instead, two very different emotions were swirling through his mind as though on a rollercoaster: he could feel the fear bubbling up in his chest as he replayed Mr. Anderson's words in his head:_ We need a system that can track them down and kill them ..._ _to rid us of these violent monsters once and for all ... _Death. The world wanted him dead. They wanted to find him and kill him and leave him out to rot, and Kurt would never be safe from them and there would be nowhere to hide.

And yet, the second emotion whirling in his mind - twirling and twining with the horror of this all - was _calm_. Which was crazy and nonsensical but Kurt couldn't help but feel it; because all he could think of was Blaine. Because how many other politicians were there in Ohio with the last name Anderson? And what were the chances that it was them at the gala last night? And what were the chances that it was _they_ with a son called Blaine, and not this Brom Anderson?

The hate, the threats, the fear of who he was shone on the TV screen. That was supposed to be his inescapable reality - he was surprised at how easily he'd allowed himself to forget. A few hours with Blaine, and he'd forgotten it all. He hadn't been a monster or a murderer or a threat. He had been Kurt. And he knew he should feel even more horrified than he was about Brom Anderson being Blaine's father but he wasn't. He felt _calm._ Because Blaine had messaged him last night and wanted to see him. Because it meant that to Blaine it didn't matter who his father was, and what he was doing.

It meant that this – that politics - wouldn't interfere with how Blaine felt for him. Because really, nothing had changed. Did Blaine want him dead? The answer didn't matter. Kurt had prepared himself for it already, and he knew he couldn't chance finding out. He'd steeled himself with the knowledge that this wouldn't last forever. So Blaine's father meant nothing to them.

"This could ruin us all!" Kurt snapped to attention as his father stood up and began pacing round the room, "This is bad. He can't win, Carole, we cannot let him win!" Burt's voice was thick with emotion: anger or fear, Kurt couldn't tell.

"I know, sweetie," Carole said as she stood and joined him. The worry in her wide eyes was clear, "I'll go call Will. You two will need to start planning a counter-attack. You can figure this out; it'll be okay..."

Burt and Carole hurried out of the room and into the kitchen, leaving Kurt and Finn alone on the couch, the TV still playing before them. It had moved on from the press conference and was now showing the devastation at Lima Mall.

"It was Jacob Ben Israel." Finn said after a while. Kurt looked at him. "He destroyed the mall. He was already a loner and an outcast, right? Must've just finally snapped."

Kurt watched as Finn sighed and ran his hands through his hair, linking them round the back of his neck. "I can't believe none of us noticed."

"He wouldn't exactly have made it obvious," Kurt said dryly, but he knew exactly what Finn meant. Jacob Ben Israel – everyone at school knew Jacob Ben Israel. He had been right there; he had been right under their noses all along and they hadn't helped him. They could have found him. They could have stopped him ... but they hadn't even known. And now he was dead, and he'd taken others down with him.

The world could be a very cruel place.

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><p>Blaine was waiting on the street just outside the Lima Bean when Kurt pulled up at 1:55. The nervous way he'd shoved his hands in his pockets and the way his eyes searched the lot hopefully made Kurt's heart flutter uncontrollably. He could feel his cheeks flushing, despite the cool breeze that seemed intent on attacking him through his layers.<p>

"Hey," Blaine said quickly as Kurt approached. His eyes lit up and his face broke into a smile, one that Kurt could not help but return.

"Hello to you too," he replied, and they stood for a moment before each other in silence, before breaking out into nervous laughter.

"We should – we should probably go inside," Blaine blushed, stepping forward to open the door. Kurt nodded and flashed him an amused smile, stepping though the entrance and entering the cosy warmth of the coffee shop. The babble of conversation and the soft clinking of the baristas filled the room, sounding somewhat muffled in the small busy space. Tables and chairs were cluttered around the shop, yet it seemed more homely than unpleasant, and Kurt decided that he liked it. He could feel Blaine's hand on his arm as he was led to the counter, gripping slightly at the material of his coat and not letting go, even as they ordered. The girl behind the counter noted their positions and smiled knowingly at them, making them both blush even more than before (if that were possible).

Yet despite all that, it wasn't until Blaine offered to pay for Kurt's drink that it really settled in on him what this was:

"You really don't have to," Kurt was saying, pulling out his wallet.

Blaine stilled Kurt's hand with his own though, smiling in amusement at him. "Kurt, please. After all, _I'm _the one who asked _you _here. Therefore the rules state that I get to pay_._"

Kurt didn't have to ask what these rules were. It was painfully obvious date etiquette.

Because this was a date.

Kurt was on a date.

With a boy.

The butterflies in his stomach were now crashlanding joyfully into his organs because _he was on a date!_

His mind was still all a-flutter as Blaine led him to a table in the far corner of the room, and it was only once they'd settled into their seats and set down their cups that Blaine began to speak:

"So," he smiled, somewhat ruefully, "Kurt _Hummel_, huh?"

Kurt's heart dropped into his stomach. "Yeah." He replied, because what else was there to say? Clearly, Blaine couldn't think of anything either because he simply nodded, and looked down at his coffee. They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them moving. Kurt wondered dimly at how comfortable it was, even with nothing to say. He supposed they should feel awkward, but when he looked over at Blaine, the other boy seemed to be deep in thought, not scouting for exits. Finally Kurt spoke up: "It doesn't have to matter, right?"

Blaine looked at him quickly, and Kurt could see the relief evident in his eyes. "You don't care?" he said, so hopeful it made Kurt's heart melt.

He looked down at the table thoughtfully before replying: "Well," he began, "I can't say your father's campaign doesn't _bother_ me..." – _he wants me dead for pete's sake – _"but it doesn't have to have anything to do with _us_ if we don't want it to."

Blaine nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting a little taller. "Alright: I won't expect you to support my dad politically if you don't expect me to support yours." He said decisively, "For the purposes of this relationship, they shall be not politicians, but fathers, and the fighting can stay in between them."

Kurt actually laughed as Blaine held out his hand stiffly to shake. It got even better when Kurt made no move to pull his hand away and Blaine made no move to let go.

"So," Blaine said, smiling cheekily and leaning forward, "Moving on then. Let's talk about something _not _political."

"Is fashion political?" Kurt asked sweetly, the ice now officially broken.

"Hmm," Blaine looked down thoughtfully, his thumb trailing over Kurt's knuckles, "I suppose we could manage that."

They talked for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the rapidly emptying coffee shop around them as the afternoon wore on. Kurt couldn't remember talking so much, and about so many different things in his life – not even with Rachel or Mercedes. Some moments they were calm and thoughtful, talking about things like school and homophobia. Other times Kurt was giggling uncontrollably as Blaine waxed poetic about top fourty songs and a capella, or Kurt was giving his own sarcastic summary of the latest Twilight movie, much to Blaine's amusement. By the time four-thirty rolled around they were sitting closing and sharing a chocolate chip cookie – or rather, Blaine was attempting to force-feed Kurt half of his.

"Blaine! I don't want it!" Kurt said, trying to keep his mouth closed as he pulled away.

But Blaine was adamant, holding tightly to Kurt's arm to keep him from escaping: "It's delicious Kurt! You haven't lived until you've-"

They were interrupted by Kurt's phone, the message tone buzzing loudly from the table.

"Don't try anything." Kurt warned Blaine sharply, reaching for his phone. Blaine held up both hands innocently.

Kurt unlocked his phone and scanned the message quickly before sighing. "It's my dad," he said ruefully, pocketing the device. "He needs me to come home,"

Blaine nodded and stood up, "I'll walk you to your car."

The air was far cooler as evening began creeping in, and Blaine seemed to enjoy the excuse of keeping close to Kurt's side.

Reaching his car, Kurt turned to stand between Blaine and the driver door, ready but unwilling to say good-bye.

Hidden between Kurt's navigator and the car beside it, they were practically invisible unless someone walked passed. This Kurt noted around the same time he realised how close Blaine was standing. The gap between the two cars was small, and he could feel Blaine's breath on his cheek they were so close. He could smell Blaine's cologne from this distance. All he could see were Blaine's eyes. Time seemed to stop then, as he watched Blaine watch him, knowing he felt it too. Blaine's eyes were wide with what seemed to be wonder, a feeling that matched Kurt's own. He could feel his back pressed up against the door of his car, which was a good thing; he wasn't certain he could stand on his own right now. Those eyes were so _golden_...

He saw Blaine moving as if from within a dream; the way he moved slowly forward, wide eyes glancing from Kurt's eyes to his mouth as he leaned in carefully, nervously. Kurt felt his eyes flutter shut, and a heady sort of anticipation until finally their lips touched. He could feel Blaine's mouth against his own, the soft pressure of his first kiss ... his stomach fluttered and his mind shut down. His chest filled with the joy one has before they laugh, yet laughing was the last thing he wanted to do. He could feel Blaine's hands on his waist, holding him. He wanted time to stop, he wanted to pull Blaine closer and never let go...

When they broke apart, Kurt couldn't be sure how long they'd been kissing. _Can't have been too long_, his brain supplied with ill-timed logic, _you weren't breathing that whole time_. His arms were wrapped around Blaine's neck and he couldn't remember how they got there. Blaine looked just as dazed, staring at Kurt like he couldn't believe what had just happened. Kurt supposed he should move, but his arms didn't seem to want to move from Blaine's shoulders, and it was then that Blaine let out a breathless giggle. Suddenly everything fell into place again and Blaine was resting his forehead against Kurt's and they were giggling like schoolchildren, arms wrapped around one another in the irrational hope that they would never need to let go.

"I guess I should go," Kurt said after a while, turning to rest his head on Blaine's shoulder.

"Do you have to?" Blaine whined.

Kurt laughed again and let himself pull back, till only his hands were rested on Blaine's shoulders. "I think my dad will worry if I never come home again."

Blaine nodded, and looked down, but didn't move his hands from Kurt's waist.

"There's... there's a football game on Friday at my Dalton," he said finally, "and me and some of the warblers are going together to the lake afterwards."

A pause. "Sounds like fun," Kurt said, tilting his head to look Blaine in the eyes.

"Will you come with me?"

Kurt smiled and leaned in to kiss Blaine on the cheek, "I'd be delighted."

After a few more kisses and some hurried goodbyes, Kurt finally made it into his car and Blaine to his own. He sat silently for a moment, staring through the windscreen blankly and just basking in the afterglow of Blaine, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Opening the last text message, he read it over once more:

_Blocked number:_

_ND emergency meeting. Six o'clock. Don't be late._

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><p><strong>Tune in next chapter, for some awesome supernatural action and even more adorable Klaine!<strong>

**Till then, drop me a line and share your thoughts in the reviews! Or in my ask box on tumblr or wherever - I love to hear from you!**

**:) triedtolie**


	7. Chapter Six: Battle Strategies

**Special thanks once again to my loverly beta, Lily Harper Knox!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or X-Men**

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><p>The complex was dark and desolate this time of night. Nothing but rusty dumpsters and echoing warehouses. Corrugated metal tear-streaked with rust and cracked concrete emptiness. On the outskirts of Lima Heights Adjacent not a soul could be seen for miles around. Not in this hopeless place, not a soul except for –<p>

"Hurry it up! We ain't got all night!"

Mongrel's whispered growl echoed through the dark warehouse. There was no light to work by than that of the moon; Mongrel's silhouette stood stark in the doorway, a hulking mass of shadow and muscle. They could see his eyes glinting dangerously. They could see the glinting metal of his gun.

At once, the members of his gang seemed to speed up. Even in the darkness it was clear what kinds of men they were: As members of Mongrel's team, they were surely the best in the business. Or the worst, depending on how you looked at it. Thick muscles rippled under scarred and tattooed skin. Like dark wraiths, the men flickered quietly round the floor. They heaved and carried the boxes methodically out of the warehouse. A truck rumbled before the door, the men flitting round it like bees to a hive.

Mongrel chewed on the end of his toothpick as he watched the operation unfold. It was running smoothly. This was the biggest smuggling job ever perpetrated in Ohio's history. Three hundred crates of weapons and ammunition were being loaded onto that truck, ready and waiting for the highest bidder. Months of planning and thousands of dollars that Mongrel could almost _smell_. It all came down to that precious cargo...

SLAM!

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><p>"<em>You all know why we're here," Mr. Schuester paced around the lair, his expression dark, "You all saw the press conference – all of <em>Ohio _heard that press conference – and they liked what Mr. Anderson has to say. Since this morning Brom Anderson's approval ratings have been growing exponentially, all because of his cause against 'The Monster Problem'. He is talking and people are listening, and it is putting not only Burt's campaign, but _us _in danger. There is nothing stopping Brom Anderson for winning this election and there is nothing stopping him and the rest of Ohio from seeing us destroyed."_

"_But what are we supposed to do, Mr. Schue?" said Mercedes sadly, "it's not like people don't already want us dead – what's to stop them from jumping at the chance?"_

"_Yeah, Mr. Schue," said Rachel, her eyes wide with worry, "We're just monsters to them. We're nothing but evil monsters."_

_Mr. Schuester turned to her, a glint forming in his eyes. "That's true, Rachel," he said slowly, "In the eyes of the public, we're nothing but evil monsters."_

_He walked down to the front of the room, his back to them:_

"_But the eyes of the public can change."_

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><p>"I-I don't know what happened, I <em>swear-<em>"

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S IN THAT BOX, YOU MORON?" Mongrel roared, grabbing the gangster by the throat, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT COULD'VE HAPPENED IF YOU'D DROPPED IT?"

"I didn't drop it, I _swear-_"

But Mongrel wasn't listening. He raised his weapon in one swift movement. His finger tightened around the trigger and –

"_ARGH!"_

The boss roared in pain. The crate seemed to come flying out of nowhere. Lifted itself off the floor, slammed itself against Mongrel's outstretched arm. The gun flew out his hand. It clattered to the floor. With a howl, he whirled around in search of the culprit.

And came face to face with a small, masked girl.

"Hi!" said Rachel brightly. Mongrel's eyes widened:

"What the-"

"Jig is up, Mongrel."

Mongrel whirled around to where the second voice had come from. Deep within the warehouse, a pair of bright, unnatural eyes stared back at him. A boy materialised out of the shadows, dressed in black, face hidden and eyes burning. Burning like fire.

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><p>"<em>When we started this group you guys said you wanted to become more than just the freaks the world saw you as. You wanted to utilise your powers into something more: a means to help people; to save lives. The world sees you as the villains; while unbeknownst to them you have been facing the real villainy of this world. You have taken down not only murderers, and criminals; you guys have had to fight hatred, and bigotry.<em>

"_You guys have saved so many lives over the years, and nobody even knows it. The world sees you as monsters. Brom Anderson sees you as monsters. But it's time to show the world, who you really are."_

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><p>The gang members all scrambled for their guns, staring in horror as Kurt emerged from the shadows, body engulfed in flames and several things seemed to happen at once:<p>

One man didn't even reach for his gun. He yelled and bolted instead, disappearing into the shadows – and straight into the waiting clutches of Finn Hudson.

A burly member raised his gun with grim certainty and aimed, but not before a pair of arms snaked around his torso and neck. With a strangled yell, he tried to beat them off, but the arms kept snaking. Stretching like rubber. Round and round his neck. Up his arms and about his gun. His eyes widened in panic as Mike Chang pulled him further into the shadows.

The man beside him had barely a chance to react. Focused on Kurt, he didn't notice the hulking form of Sam Evans until it had pounced: a ferocious, monstrous wolf. His gun clattered from his hands as he fell, screaming.

Another man was scrabbling for his weapon when he was doused with ice cold water. Coughing, he turned around to face a beautiful masked girl dressed in blue silk. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, the girl – Quinn Fabray – smiled; and suddenly he couldn't move his legs. He looked down and screamed in horror as the ice made its way up his limbs and round his torso. He didn't stop screaming until at last, his face and mouth were covered, a frozen mask of fear.

Mongrel had lunged for his gun, but Rachel Berry was quicker: With a mere flick of her head, the gun went flying into the air. With a sudden bolt of green light, Mercedes shattered it into a thousand tiny pieces. Mongrel - a man who had seen and perpetrated countless crimes, a man who had orchestrated murders, tortured innocent people - stared in absolute horror. Rushing to his feet, he looked around him. Amidst the carnage stood ten masked figures, eyes burning with an unnatural intensity he'd never been cursed to see before.

"Who – who _are you?_" he stammered, eyes wide in terror.

A woman dressed entirely in red stepped forward.

"We're the New Directions." She smiled darkly -

Suddenly the world tilted as he looked into her eyes. Forming dark, looming tunnels they surrounded him, and with a gurgling noise he fell to the ground, face contorted in horror. Santana looked down at him.

"We're the New Directions," she repeated, "and we're your worst nightmare."

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><p>It was three o'clock in the morning by the time Kurt finally managed to fall into bed.<p>

By the time Artie alerted them that the police had found the warehouse and its residents, they were all thoroughly exhausted. But they grudgingly made their way back to the base, where Mr. Schuester stood waiting for their debriefing. They were all so tired they didn't even yell at Finn when he slumped his feet upon the coffee table with enough force to send it splintering to the floor. It took them three hours to get through the entire mission, each of them recounting their own perspectives. It wasn't until then that Mr. Schuester concluded them safe and was certain that none of them were recognised.

"It was a great job you guys did tonight," Mr. Schuester said firmly, "you managed to take down every one of those gang members. By now they'll all be locked up and that warehouse will be a full-blown crime scene."

He turned to Artie and nodded. Artie turned to the projector and hit play.

"Needless to say, the police will be looking through any security cameras and visuals of the area to see what exactly happened tonight," Schuester continued. The screen came to life, and the warehouse blossomed onto the screen. There stood the truck and its owners, diligently loading it with cargo, unsuspecting of what was to happen. "We suspect that this 'Mongrel' and his gang would have wiped the footage once they were done; and under normal circumstances, so would we."

They watched for a moment as the figure of Rachel appeared onscreen, and the sudden commotion of the falling cargo.

"The police will finally have footage of you guys," said Mr. Schuester, "the police will question Mongrel on the attack, and he'll be able tell them all about New Directions. His entire gang will have clear memories of the attack, because Santana didn't wipe them. Within the next twenty-four hours, news of the New Directions will spread to the media. From now on, every mission we do will be public knowledge. We'll stand for every citizen, and we'll become the public's greatest heroes. We'll make them question everything they've ever thought about mutants, and every bit of mistruth and harsh judgement Brom Anderson has thrown at them."

They'd all grinned and cheered at that, despite their exhaustion. Later that night, when Kurt and Finn had finally gotten home, they'd bid each other goodnight with uncontainable grins on their faces. Kurt fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, with the promise of a good night's sleep and nothing to wake him until noon.

But while this seemed to him a good plan, the universe seemed to have other ideas.

Kurt was startled awake by the sudden ring of his cellphone.

Blearily raising his head, he pawed at his nightstand for the phone and pressed it tiredly to his ear: "'llo?" he said groggily, his head falling against his pillow. His brain seemed to be filled with fog, and everything was too bright.

"Hey Kurt!" Blaine Anderson's chirpy voice chimed on the other end of the line, then: "Oh, sorry, did I wake you?"

Kurt closed his eyes with a muffled sigh before opening them again. At the sound of Blaine's voice, his brain seemed to have boosted itself up out of sleep, with no promise of ever returning, "Uh, no," Kurt lied, sitting up and turning the heater on, "It's alright, I was about to get up anyway."

"Oh, okay," said Blaine brightly, although obviously aware of Kurt's lie. Kurt smiled and shivered slightly as he waited for the heater to work. It wasn't a particularly cold morning, but to him it felt like freezing. He curled up tightly in his comforter.

"Anyway," Blaine continued, "I know we only saw each other yesterday - and we said we'd be going out on Friday – but I was just kinda hoping that if it's not too much and if you don't have plans and aren't sick of me yet, maybe we could see each other again today, as well?" he tapered off a bit at the end, voice filling with uncertainty and falling into an awkward silence.

Kurt sprung into action, and filled it: "Oh, no. That sounds great," he said quickly, "yeah; I'd love to see you again today."

He smiled when he heard Blaine sigh in relief, "Oh, okay. Good." He said, "That's good. Maybe we can grab some brunch or something?"

Kurt grinned, "Brunch? Really?"

"Yeah," Blaine replied, "brunch: the mixture of breakfast and lunch. When it's too late for one and too early for the other. It's quite the phenomenon."

Kurt laughed, "I know what brunch is, Blaine, I'm not completely hopeless."

"Sure you're not, Kurt. Sure."

"But what teenager invites their friends to _brunch_? Would lunch interfere with the lawn bowls tournament?"

Blaine was silent for a moment, "maybe I just wanted to see you sooner." He said, suddenly shy.

Kurt paused in the middle of searching through his cupboard, stunned.

"Oh." He said dumbly, before mentally kicking himself, "I mean, wow. That's really..."

"Desperate?" Blaine offered.

"Sweet," Kurt continued firmly, "I think that's really sweet. And also flattering."

"Oh –"

"– and you made me blush, Blaine. I look awful when I blush."

"No you don't –"

"– and it's because I like you. And I want to see you soon as well."

At this Blaine was silent. Kurt could tell he was smiling. And probably blushing, too.

* * *

><p>The opening titles rolled, opening onto the news anchors: "Hi, I'm Sue Sylvester," said the first.<p>

"And I'm Rod Remington, reporting to you from WOHN News 8," said the anchorman, baring his pearly whites:

"In breaking news tonight, the shocking revelation that's left police baffled: When the local police force of Lima Heights Adjacent received a mysterious tip-off in the early hours of this morning, what they uncovered has left officers such as police chief Jim Brady shocked."

The screen changed to show a burly police officer sporting an impressive handlebar moustache: _"We received a tip-off early this Saturday morning from an anonymous caller," he said in a strong southern drawl, "involving a smuggling operation just outside o' Lima Heights Adjacent. After an organised investigation, our officers stumbled upon a well-known and highly suspect crime syndicate operating in the area. All the members seemed to have already been neutralised by a force outside o' police control."_

The camera cut back to a serious-looking Sue Sylvester: "according to police sources, this _isn't_ the first time something like this has happened. In the past three years, an estimation of around ninety high profile police arrests have involved these anonymous tip-offs – with all the suspects already neutralised before police intervention.

"In fact, no effort was even made by the police force to discover who was responsible for these impressive crime-stopping arrests..."

"_It has never been made clear before now as to who was responsible for these tip-offs,"_ the camera returned to Chief Brady once more, who now looked petulant, _"It has never been encouraged by the police for untrained citizens to take these matters into their own hands. While helpful, it's lucky these anonymous sources weren't killed for taking on what is supposed to be police business."_

"But what police originally assumed to be a lone vigilante citizen, as they have now discovered, turns out to be so much more: in a thorough search of the area, police uncovered this shocking and exclusive CCTV footage that has to be seen to be believed..."

The screen cut to the silent footage: large figures working around a waiting truck; a girl suddenly appears, and suddenly everything turns to chaos. Masked figures materialising from shadows, morphing into wolves, or limbs stretching like rubber. Objects flying of their own accord, men thrown to the ground with impossible strength.

The screen cut back to Sue, how was now staring intently into the camera:

"Mutants have long been seen as mindlessly violent and uncontrollable dangers to society. It was only yesterday that political candidate Brom Anderson called for stricter guidelines and organisation of full mutant extermination, a view shared by voters everywhere. And yet, for three years police have been aided by a mysterious band of vigilante mutants."

"_It has shocked not only me, but my colleagues and superiors as well,"_ said Chief Brady, onscreen once more, _"These mutants have formed a cohesive and organised group against criminals and wanted folk within Lima, Ohio. It's the kind of behaviour we ain't never seen nor suspected was possible – mutants capable of rational thought like that. It's definitely come as a shock to us; we been fighting mutants so long, and calling for their estermination and whatnot, it seems so impossible that this could even happen._

"_We always assumed they were our enemies. Now I'm not quite sure _what _to think."_

The TV flickered and turned blank.

Alone in his living room, Brom Anderson sat on his leather sofa, his fists clenched around the remote, and a look of pure rage etched upon his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**Ugh, sorry this chapter took so long, these past couple weeks have been crazy :S I'm already started on the next chapter though, and hopefully that'll be up soon! *loud cheering***

**Anyhoo, as always reviews are encouraged and much appreciated - as a full-time hermit, I crave contact from other human beings.**

**That was a joke. Sort of. Someone take away my keyboard before I say something silly!**

**Until next time, dear readers!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Secrets of Fire

**Special thanks once more to Lily Harper Knox, without whom this story would be nothing.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or X-Men.**

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><p>Burt Hummel was in the living room, going through his campaign notes, when he was suddenly met with a distraction in the form of his teenage son, who was barrelling down the stairs and towards the door like a man possessed.<p>

He looked on in surprise, taking in his son's elaborate outfit and wide-eyed expression. "Hey Buddy, slow down!" He said, staring at his son in confusion. And he had every right to be confused: It wasn't like Kurt to behave like this, hurrying out the door and going out without a word – hell, it wasn't like him to go out at all! Especially not at four-thirty on a Friday evening. It might sound sad (and Burt hated himself that this was the case) but with most of Kurt's friends in New Directions, it wasn't exactly prudent of them to be hanging out together in public, lest someone put two and two together. The only reasons Kurt tended to leave the house were to go to school or go shopping for clothes or groceries. Or, as of this past week, to make frequent trips to the library.

Now, Burt couldn't be certain, but: a) he was pretty sure the mall was closed by this time; and b) although he was glad Kurt was taking his studies so seriously, to Burt spending one's Friday nights in the local library seemed a little excessive.

Especially (Burt noted Kurt's outfit once more) when dressed like _that._

"Where ya off to, Kurt?" he said finally, looking the boy up and down.

Kurt seemed to just stare at him blankly for a moment, before catching himself and flashing a bright smile: "Just going to work on a project!" he said, "for English. With my English partner. From school."

Burt nodded critically. He was no mind reader – not like that Lopez girl – but he was a good enough father to know when his son was lying to him. This was one of those times. He made some quick calculations, trying to figure out what was going on:

He knew Kurt had been having a rough time lately; especially in light of his argument with Finn not a week ago. He got that Kurt was probably lonely; aside from the New Directions kids, he had to admit his son really didn't have any friends. Why he would lie about going out to see people, though? Burt couldn't be sure. He got that he could be really strict sometimes – it was his worst fear that Kurt should ever be found out and put in danger – and he wondered if perhaps that was what this was about.

He realised that Kurt could use some fun in his life He knew, despite his over protectiveness, that he could trust his son – after all, Finn managed to hang out with his jock friends and date cheerleaders without getting caught, so why shouldn't Burt let Kurt do the same? So long as he didn't get too emotionally attached to anyone, he would be safe. But Kurt was a smart kid, and Burt knew that he could be trusted.

"Well you have fun now," Burt said, coming to a conclusion, "and don't be home late; your curfew is till eleven." He realised belatedly that his son had never had a curfew before.

Kurt looked relieved, though, and made his way to the door. "Bye, dad!" he said, smile genuine now.

"Bye kiddo." Said Burt. "Oh, and Kurt!" he added.

His son paused and turned around to face him, hand on the doorknob.

"Be safe, okay?"

That was all he said, but at the fragile look on Kurt's face he knew his son had understood him.

"I..." he began, "sure dad." He said finally. He turned around and opened the door, hurrying out once more, with a troubled look his father didn't see.

* * *

><p>Kurt's mind was a mess as he made his was to Dalton.<p>

It wasn't that he wanted to lie to his dad – hell, he didn't want to lie to _anyone_, he really didn't – but what was he supposed to say: _Hey, dad! I've fallen in love with our arch-rival's son! You know the one, right? The one that wants me dead? Yeah, it could make our wedding reception a bit awkward one day but I'm sure it won't be a problem! And I may have to admit to my ability to set things on fire at will, but I'm sure no one will mind, right Dad? Dad?_

At this point, he could picture his dad lying comatose on the floor. So yeah ... no.

Kurt was sure his father had been suspicious of his sudden obsession with studying at the library, but it was the only excuse he had for his daily coffee dates with Blaine (and it was a far better lie than Blaine had come up with: that he was getting extra tutoring for Latin. He didn't even _take _Latin). They talked about everything on those dates though – even those little things they'd never told to their families or friends – like it was the most natural thing. It was just so easy, so _so_ easy, to trust Blaine about everything.

Well.

Almost everything.

Blaine: sweet, innocent Blaine whom he'd only known for a week. Who it felt like he'd known his entire life.

For Kurt, this was his one regret: Kurt had secrets. More than anyone he knew. And yet when he was with Blaine, he felt so much like _himself. _No secrets, no lies. And while it was one thing to hide it from the world at large, hiding it from Blaine was entirely another.

It hurt. It hurt knowing that there would always be a part of him that Blaine would never know. That he could never be himself, wholly and truly, with Blaine, the way Blaine was with him.

_It's almost like coming out, _Kurt thought bleakly, _except with a government warrant tacked on._ Shaking his head, Kurt came back to his senses slowly and pulled into the Dalton parking lot. This was where he had promised to meet Blaine, yet as he parked and killed the engine, he found himself regretting the decision. He looked around and was struck by how many _people _there were here. He realised had no idea of his way around here, and was just starting to grow nervous of having to find Blaine in this crowd, when he heard a sharp tap on his window.

Jumping in fright, he spun around to see Blaine, peering through the glass at him with a bright, cheeky smile.

"Oh, did that amuse you?" Kurt asked witheringly as he got out of his car. Blaine merely hummed in response, his smile never dimming.

Instead, he linked Kurt's arm in his, kissed him on the cheek (an action that made Kurt's stomach flip) and said: "You look nice."

Kurt sniffed in acknowledgement before replying: "As do you. I see you're channelling some good-old-fashioned school spirit."

Indeed, Blaine seemed to have coordinated his outfit entirely of red, white, and navy. Even his smart black coat had been donned with a delicate blue and red brooch. Kurt was struck by how in-theme, and yet also dazzlingly stylish Blaine had managed to look. While he did manage to blend in with the excited people around them, he looked a far cry from the blue and red painted faces cavorting past them.

"I'm a very dedicated individual, Kurt." Blaine was saying, his expression solemn, "I take my school pride very seriously."

At this Kurt laughed, and allowed Blaine to lead him through the crowds. The stands surrounding the football field were full to the brim with students and parents alike, cheering and yelling in anticipation for the game. As they found their seats, Kurt kept himself as close to Blaine as possible, trying not to get lost in the ebb and flow of the crowd. If possible, the mood of the audience only heightened as the players filed out onto the field and the game began.

Although not much of a sports person, Kurt found that when one Blaine Anderson was beside him and hopping up and down like a puppy, even football could be entertaining. As the game wore on, Kurt found himself watching more and more of Blaine than of the players in front of him: his wide-eyed stare and glowing smile were, to Kurt, oddly fascinating. There was just something about Blaine being happy that made him happy. He couldn't quite explain it, but it seemed to him that when Blaine laughed and cheered for his team, the whole world should have joined in with him, spurred on by the sheer joy of his smile.

* * *

><p>And so it was that by the end of the game Kurt was almost disappointed it was over, and that the spell might be broken. But thankfully, Blaine seemed as starry-eyed as ever as they made their way from the stands, glowing with the leftover excitement.<p>

"C'mon, Kurt!" he said cheerfully, pulling the other boy along by the hand, "Everyone should be waiting by the front doors! Man, they're so excited to meet you, Kurt! I swear, you're gonna love them. This is going to be so much fun; we do this after every game and-"

As Blaine pulled him along, Kurt wondered faintly if he'd been _that _kid when he was little; the one that wouldn't _shut up_.

It was only when Blaine started dragging Kurt to a distinct group of people that he began to get butterflies. The group seemed to be made up entirely of teenagers their own age – Kurt guessed them to be some of the warblers and their girlfriends. Feeling suddenly shy, Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand a little tighter. From what he'd hear about them from Blaine they seemed a very close group, and he felt very much like the new kid. He tried not to consider the implications of the fact that Blaine actually wanted him to meet them, and (by the way they were now excitedly waving them over) that they seemed to want to meet him, too. Nevertheless, the idea made him blush furiously, and he hoped in vain that none of them would notice.

Indeed, as they got closer most of the group hurried forward to meet them, with excited hellos and handshakes and even hugs. Most of the guys immediately engulfed Blaine in excited football talk, whilst Kurt found himself bombarded with the names and faces of each of them. He tried not to look too bewildered by the sudden attention, but by the way Blaine came up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, he evidently wasn't succeeding.

By the time they all collected themselves and made their ways to the parking lot, Kurt was sticking very closely to Blaine's side, who was now in the midst of a detailed game play-by-play with a boy Kurt guessed to be Nick.

"So," a voice shocked him and he turned around. "Kurt _Hummel_, huh? Son of Burt Hummel I presume?"

Kurt recognised the speaker as a girl named Else – Jeff's girlfriend. She and Trent were now walking beside him, with interested looks on their faces. He was immediately reminded of Tina and Mercedes when they were looking for gossip.

"Oh. Um, yes. That's me." he said, feeling rather confused. It struck him as odd to have people approach him and talk to him as friends. The only thing he was sought out for at school was slushies, and he'd never really had a choice but to be friends with everyone in New Directions. And yet here he now stood with Trent and Else, both of whom were looking at him with interest. Like he was their friend ... like he was normal.

"Wow, well that ought to make things interesting!" said Else with a smirk.

"Oh, well, you know," Kurt stammered, "we try not to talk about it. Leave the politics to the politicians and all that."

"Wow," said Else, "that's so crazy. Adorable, but crazy."

"But wouldn't your parents be unhappy about it?" Trent frowned, "I mean I know Blaine's dad's like, _really _strict..."

Kurt raised his eyebrows, "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never really thought to ask."

"But does _your _family know?" Else pushed, her eyes gleaming at the drama.

"Well...no." Kurt admitted.

At this she squealed loudly. "That is so CUTE!" she said, grabbing Trent's arm, "It's like Romeo and Juliet!"

A few people turned to stare. A grizzly looking man with white hair even glared at them. Kurt shot Trent a bewildered look, who returned it with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he said, prying off a grinning Else, "we're just curious. Blaine's never had a boyfriend before."

"Oh, it's quite alright," Kurt said before stopping. Did Trent just say what he'd thought he'd said?

_Boyfriends._

Were they boyfriends?

While the conversation turned onto other topics, Kurt's mind continued spinning with Trent's words. It was only once they'd reached the parking lot that he was able to put it aside. Since not all of them had cars, Kurt had kindly agreed to donate his to the cause.

"So," said David, taking charge, "Who's going in which vehicle?"

In a move that brooked no objection, Blaine latched himself immediately to Kurt's side and yelled "Shotgun!" before anyone else had a chance to move. He was joined by Nick and Trent, and Nick's girlfriend Bernice. Else shot the group an almost longing look, before following Jeff to his car.

This was how Kurt ended up with a car full of people intent on singing loudly to any song Blaine could find on his iPod. Later, Kurt was not only proud that he'd survived the journey without getting lost (he was following Jeff's car to the lake), but he'd also managed to sit through an entire rendition of 'Check Yes Juliet' (courtesy of Blaine Anderson) without perishing from the cute. It was bad enough that Nick and Trent had sat in the backseat and grinned significantly at him; but they'd also provided the back-up vocals. Blaine, however, sat beside him bopping his head, with winks that were anything but subtle.

_We're flying through the night,  
>We're flying through the night,<br>Way up high,  
>The view from here is getting better with,<br>You by my side..._

"I'm trying to drive," Kurt muttered, beet red, as Blaine sang the words into his ear. The boy just grinned in response before falling back into the chorus: "_Run baby run..._"

It was well and truly dark by the time they turned off the highway and into the gravel parking lot of the lake. Kurt was glad for the cool air on his cheeks as he stepped out of the car, but it was short-lived. Despite the fact he was wearing a jacket just like everyone else, he had to keep himself from shivering with cold. He watched dully as Trent hurried over to meet Else, no doubt bursting to recount what had just happened. Indeed, the two immediately put their heads together, whispering and giggling, glancing Kurt's way as Blaine came up beside him.

"Sorry about that," he said, putting an arm around Kurt's shoulders. His tone was sincere, but his mischievous grin gave him away.

"We are not speaking, Blaine Anderson." Kurt stepped away haughtily, out of Blaine's grasp. He regretted it instantly, though; Blaine was so _warm_.

Blaine's grin merely widened at Kurt's response, and he stepped closer once more. "You _liked _it!" He accused, grabbing Kurt's arm.

They both knew he was right, but Kurt saw no reason to admit it. He did allow himself a quick smile though, and Blaine joined him.

"C'mon," he said softly, taking Kurt's hand. Kurt realised that everyone was already making their way through the trees and towards the lake. Blaine was about to make his way when Kurt stopped him. As Blaine turned around, Kurt leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. When he pulled back, Blaine was staring at him with a look so loving he had to shift his gaze towards his feet.

"Okay, now we can go." He said, his voice shaking slightly. Blaine leaned forward to kiss his cheek, before they finally let themselves follow the others.

Despite the dark, they could make out the group's flashlights ahead of them on the path. They got quite a few looks – and even a saucy wink from Jeff – when they finally caught up. At this Blaine smiled shyly and ducked his head, while Kurt shot them all a fierce glare. Kurt was just beginning to wonder if his shoes were appropriate for walking through the forest when the trees finally cleared. Suddenly, he found himself walking not on gravel, but on the pebbly shore of the Westerville Lake.

The water stretched out ahead of them, surrounded by dark forestry on either side. In the darkness, the water stood like black marble. The moon reflected brightly on its still surface. Small waves lapped against the pebbly shore, and Kurt was surprised to find that they were not the only people here, and what he saw before him made his stomach flip:

Some of the Dalton boys cheered as they exited the forest, and their cheers were met by a group of teenagers not far away. They were crowded down further along the shore, sitting on logs or standing around a massive, blazing _bonfire_.

It wasn't that Kurt was scared. He wasn't nervous or fearful of being close to fire in any way, yet for some reason, the sight of such brightly burning flames had caught him off-guard.

For a moment he couldn't place it; figure out why he was reacting like this. Then he realised that it was shock: the shock of seeing something that so closely defined him, here of all places, with Blaine standing right next to him. Because when Blaine was with him, he never thought of fire.

"They're just some other Dalton boys." Blaine whispered in his ear, and it was then that Kurt realised he'd stopped walking. He realised that Blaine was referring to the extra people, and had assumed he was nervous. He shook his head slightly, like trying to ward off a fly, before looking at Blaine and smiling.

"That's okay," he said, playing along with the excuse, "The more the merrier!"

He supposed he'd sounded convincing, because Blaine looked relieved for a moment before leaning close and saying: "As long as I don't have to share you." And okay, _now _Kurt was nervous.

Blaine didn't seem to notice anything as they made their way towards the fire. He waved at a couple people and they waved back, but Kurt found himself drawn more towards the glowing flames than their company. They were greeted once again by another barrage of introductions and fist-bumping, before everyone was swept up by the excitement and promise of unearthed marshmallows. Treats in hand, everyone settled themselves on the logs around the bonfire. Kurt was glad when he managed to draw Blaine towards the closest spot to the fire; as they settled down beside each other, Kurt allowed himself to bask in the glowing heat. He still felt slightly cold, even as close as they were. Beside him, Blaine was already peeling off his coat and cardigan, as were most of the others. A little regretfully, Kurt did too, resting his jacket beside him like everyone else.

Somehow, Jeff had managed to conjure up a guitar from somewhere, and with much cheering and whooping from the others, he began to play. Blaine turned down Trent's demands for an encore of 'Check Yes Juliet' (much to Else's disappointment), instead opting for a playful rendition of "I'll Make a Man out Of You". Else was vindicated later though, when Blaine ended up sucked into a performance of "Can't Stand It" by Never Shout Never.

Kurt had never hung out with so many people his own age like this before, but as the night wore on and the songs became progressively more ridiculous (the Spongebob 'Campfire Song' had been played more than once) he realised he'd never had so much fun in his life. And as the fire slowly died down, and the people began to mellow, he found himself with his head on Blaine's shoulder, a thick woollen blanket wrapped around them. As they stared peacefully into the low-burning coals, Blaine spoke:

"This has been the best day of my life," he muttered softly into Kurt's hair.

Kurt hummed, "mine too," smiling into Blaine's shoulder. They were silent for a time, watching as Jeff and Else ran round in the distance, laughing and holding hands.

"Hey, Blaine?" Kurt said, suddenly remembering something.

"Mhm?"

"Are we ... boyfriends?"

Blaine was silent for a moment, giving Kurt enough time to panic. "I kind of assumed so?" he said, and Kurt immediately calmed, "I mean: unless you didn't want us to be?"

"Of course I do." Kurt said quickly, sitting up to look at Blaine. The other boy smiled.

"Good." Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder once more, and they fell quiet.

"Hey, Blaine?" Kurt said again, a short time later.

"Yeah?"

"Have you told anyone in your family about us?"

Silence. Then: "No." Blaine said. "You?"

"No. I don't think they'd understand."

"Me neither." Blaine said. "Hey, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"If this was the best day of your life, what was your worst?"

Kurt looked up at him again, confused. "The worst day of my life?"

Blaine nodded. "If it's not too personal."

Kurt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. "I don't know," he hedged. "What's yours?"

"I asked you first!"

"I asked you second."

Blaine sighed and shook his head with a smile, before resting his cheek against Kurt's hair. "Sadie Hawkins Dance." He said softly. "I'd just come out, and I went to the dance with the only other out kid at my school. These three guys came out of nowhere while we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, and..."

Kurt shuddered and wrapped his arms tight around Blaine's waist. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"It's okay," Blaine said. He chuckled slightly, "I think my mom took it harder than I did. She _hates _hospitals. She doesn't let me visit them at the best of times, and back then she was convinced that if I stayed there too long with the other patients I'd catch some sort of deadly virus from them. She's really germ phobic."

Kurt laughed at that and Blaine did too. When they fell silent again, he spoke: "The day my mom died."

"Hm?"

"The day my mom died," Kurt repeated. "That was my worst day. I was eight years old."

"Oh," said Blaine, "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. Nobody's ever really asked before."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Kurt looked thoughtful, "I don't know."

"Would it be forward of me to ask how she died, then?"

Kurt smiled a little and shook his head. He stared out across the lake, at where the glow of the coals reached the edge of the water. The water was clear where the light hit it, revealing the shining pebbles beneath the surface. The rest of the water was black and smooth as ice, except that part. Slowly, as though testing the words, he spoke:

"She died in a housefire."

As though caught by a sudden wind, the remains of the bonfire stuttered out in a puff of smoke, leaving them all in darkness.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Else, Its getting cold!"<p>

Else laughed as the water lapped round her ankles, turning and smiling towards a waiting Jeff.

"A few more minutes!" she called, spinning around. Jeff gave a huff, and seemed to acquiesce, until suddenly he ran forward and grabbed her round the waist.

"_Stop!_" She shrieked - more laughter than anything - as Jeff dragged her from the water and back onto shore. Jeff ignored her, spinning her around for a moment before letting her go.

"Jeff -" she giggled, looking up at him. She froze.

"What?" Jeff said, frowning.

"N-nothing." She said, staring toward the trees. "I just thought I saw something."

He turned to look around at the trees behind him; to see what Else had seen. But there was nothing.

"Let's head back," he said finally, and Else nodded, taking his hand.

The two made their way back to the others, unaware that they were being watched. Unaware that they were all being watched, and had been the whole evening.

Amidst the trees and clothed in shadows, a grizzly looking man with white hair glared at them, before disappearing once more into the darkness of the night.

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><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Seven.<strong>

**Thank you so much to all the people who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story! You have no idea how much it means to me! Feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you thought of this, because your advise and encouragement is really very much appreciated.**

**Also, special shout out to Isabel4014 who encouraged me to write more Blaine! Who knows how angsty this chapter might have been without her ;)**

**Also, so sorry this chapter took so long - its the most I've ever written and came up to ten pages on Word :S I'm still not sure how I survived it.**

**Anyhoo, until next time!**

**- triedtolie (Hannah)**


	9. Chapter Eight: Of Monsters and Men

**Warning: Contains violence, dark themes, and buckets of angst.**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Glee not X-Men. And o**nce again, all my thanks to Lily Harper Knox.****

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><p>Kurt stopped the car on the corner of Blaine's street, where his neighbours wouldn't see them should they peer out the window. It was almost eleven at night, and Kurt knew he had to be home in half an hour to meet his curfew. Yet saying goodbye to Blaine was turning out to be a lot harder than he'd thought.<p>

"Blaine, someone is going to see us," he said, breaking their kiss.

"At eleven at night? Nobody's going to see anything." And then they were kissing again, which made it very difficult for Kurt to argue, because not only was his mouth thoroughly preoccupied, but it also became impossible for him to rationalise why they should ever have to stop_._ Because if he had his way, they'd be doing this forever and _damn, _why did Blaine have to taste so good? He tasted like coffee and marshmallows. And – oh, okay – now Blaine was pressing kisses to his cheek, and now his neck and _holy hell_ that was good, that was really quite pleasant.

"Blaine," Kurt said, in a last-ditch effort to maintain responsibility, "Blaine I need to get home soon..."

Reluctantly, Blaine finally kissed him one last time and pulled back. Leaving Kurt desperately wishing he hadn't. He wished Blaine had ignored him and kept going, curfew and parents be damned.

"I think I like kissing you too much." Blaine said after a while, looking slightly dazed.

"I think I like you kissing me too much." Kurt muttered. They both looked at each other and burst out giggling.

"I guess I should get out of your car now." Blaine said sadly, once their laughter had died down. Kurt watched him with a thoroughly forlorn expression as he opened the passenger side door and stepped out into the cool night air. He waved slightly and blew Blaine a kiss, which Blaine caught and stowed in his pocket with a smile. It was impossible for Kurt not to grin with him at that, and it was with this grin that he watched Blaine's retreating figure, before turning on the engine once more and heading home.

* * *

><p>Cameras flashed from the reporters in the audience. A thousand eyes stood trained on the two men before tem, wrapped in heated political debate and argument. Behind them on a screen, flanked by two large American flags, the ten masked faces of the New Directions stared out over the crowd.<p>

Burt Hummel stood at the podium, staring out over the sea of faces, speaking as though to every single one individually: "In light of recent events, our administration has certainly been forced to reconsider the stance on the mutant issue facing our community." He began, "Now, I think it would be wise of the leadership to not make any premature decisions with this, and certainly not rash ones. I think what we've learned more than anything this week is that these mutants are also human beings.

"Time and again in history, we've seen how the prejudice and ignorance of many has clouded the truths of the few. We've seen people murdered for their beliefs, and for the ways they were born. We've seen the effects of genocide over and over.

"Long has it been government policy to have mutant children found, and killed."

He paused to glance at his opponent. "Brom Anderson argues that this policy is flawed." He said, voice booming for all to hear, "And he is right."

The audience tittered slightly, but Burt continued:

"We made the choice to murder, before we made the choice to listen. We believed that mutants were no more than monsters. And now, we've stumbled upon a video that suggests we were wrong in this reaction. See, I don't know about the voters, but I for one certainly don't want to support a policy that calls for the deaths of thousands of potentially innocent people. I don't want to destroy people based on hasty decisions. I believe every life deserves more than that, and I believe that if our leaders before us had believed as such, many of our darkest moments in history could have been avoided. We have the power to do what is right. And we have the rights to exercise that power."

The audience erupted with murmurs. Someone began to clap. Applause erupted quickly round the room, drowning almost everything else.

"That's all very sentimental." Brom Anderson cut in. He to, was standing behind a podium, on the opposite side of the stage. The cheers died down, and all eyes turned to him. "We do indeed seek to make the right choices and give one another security and freedom. We give people the rights to live as they choose. But are you suggesting we give these mutants the rights to live and to murder us? Because while you seem to be referring to some sort of endangered race or ethnicity, you are in truth referring to the very monsters that not _days_ ago murdered dozens of people, and that murder hundreds of people annually! We are not dealing with coherent human beings, Mr. Hummel. We are dealing with violent and highly threatening monsters!"

"While that may have been true two weeks ago, Mr. Anderson, I think recent events have proven otherwise."

"Proven otherwise?" Brom scoffed, "Mr. Hummel, we have been afflicted by the mutant problem for too long. Our people have suffered, and you want to brush it all aside based on this so-called 'recent information' that proves nothing about mutants as a whole?"

"Oh, it proves something, Brom. Can I call you Brom?" - A nod - "It proves that these mutants are capable of more than just senseless violence. Look at the people on that screen, Brom. Look at those people fighting for our lives. Where you or current policy to have its way, those brave people would be murdered. Those brave people, who are just as innocent as any citizen of Ohio. You say you don't want innocent lives lost, and neither do I, Mr. Anderson. On either side of the argument."

The audience erupted, reporters shouting their questions eagerly as the debate came to an end. Burt Hummel rose to his feet with a wave and a smile, exiting the stage. Brom Anderson stood too, ignoring the reporter's questions as he too walked offstage, waiting until he was out of sight before allowing a scowl to cloud his face.

On the far edge of the crowd, a scowling man with white hair watched closely, staring daggers into the man's back. But nobody noticed, and nobody saw, and next second the man was gone. It was like he'd never been there.

* * *

><p>The Anderson Estate in Westerville, Ohio was without a doubt an impressive building. Thoroughly surrounded by sweeping lawns and forestry, not many caught sight of the home unless invited. The prominent gothic architecture and interior was the admiration of many of the Anderson's friends, particularly during dinner parties, when the lawns were dark and the chandeliers lit.<p>

Yet today, for its owner it was neither a comfort nor a source of inspiration.

"He cannot possibly succeed!" Brom Anderson stormed into the parlour and threw his tie onto the table in frustration. "This cannot be happening!"

"Calm yourself, Anderson." Said Richard Smythe boredly, from where he sat, "You are getting yourself worked up over nothing."

Brom turned from where he was standing by the fireplace and shot a glare at his campaign manager. The hand he had been resting upon the impressive stone mantelpiece was now clenched into a fist. His wife hurried unnoticed into the room, picking up his tie and smoothing it over her arm. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Brom and Richard in fascination, absently stroking the silk.

"_Nothing?_" Brom said dangerously. "You think I'm getting worked up over _nothing? _Our entire scheme so far has proved fruitless! We'll have to rearrange my entire campaign and find new support because of this! It is NOT NOTHING!"

"We are _not _rearranging the campaign, Brom!" Richard snapped, "this isn't over yet and you know it!"

Brom gave Smythe a calculating look, "You know what, Richard?" he said slowly, "I'm not sure what planet you've been living on, but here in the real world we have things called _problems, _and my problems are those videos. You know another one came out last night? Those 'superheroes' saved a three year old from a burning building, Smythe! How do we argue against that? We need to cut our losses, admit we were wrong and move on to something else..."

"Those mutants killed your _father, _Anderson!" Smythe bellowed. He was on his feet now, fists clenched. Mrs. Anderson gasped at the sudden movement. "They killed your father, and now you're just going to let them walk all over OUR campaign! I will NOT let us LOSE, Anderson! I won't! I will prove these mutants evil if it is the last thing I do!"

Brom's eyes narrowed, watching carefully as Smythe paced around the room. "There is a difference between losing, and admitting to our wrongs, Richard." He said, "even as lawyers we must know that."

Richard opened his mouth to snap out a retort when the sound of the phone echoed through the house.

"If you'll excuse me," Brom said coldly. He strode out of the room. Mrs. Anderson shot Richard Smythe an anxious look before scurrying out after her husband.

She found Brom Anderson in the front hall by the phone table, receiver pressed to his ear. She needed only to glance at his expression before knowing something was wrong.

"Who is this?" he was demanding, his voice harsh. She could see it in his eyes: Fear.

A voice, like nails against a chalkboard, slithered through the speakers, "_I go by many names." _It hissed, sending shivers down his spine,_ "You may know me as Hunter._"

"I know no Hunter." Brom snapped, trying to keep the trembling from his voice. "Now what do you want?"

"_I have warned you before, Brom Anderson that your campaign will not to do you any good. You call for the death of my kind and you threaten me personally."_

"W-warned me before?" Brom stuttered, "I've never heard of you in my life!"

The voice ignored him: "_Tell me, Brom Anderson. Is your son at home?" _

The effect was instantaneous. It was like he'd just been doused with ice water, he froze so suddenly. He spun to face his wife, and she started at the sight of his pale face and wide eyes.

"Where is Blaine, Marci?" He said, and she couldn't give him an answer. She couldn't move she was so scared.

"Marci!" Her husband shouted, shocking her from her stupor, "WHERE IS BLAINE?"

"I-I don't know," she gasped, her hands beginning to shake, "I don't know he was going out with a friend, I-"

But Brom wasn't listening. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" He was yelling now, hand clenched around the telephone, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

"_Dad?_"

Brom stopped, staring at the phone in disbelief. "Blaine?" he stuttered, "Blaine, is that you?"

"_You have twenty-four hours, Brom Anderson._" The hissing voice had returned.

"_Twenty-four hours, or your son will die._"

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that day:<em>

"Turn it up, Kurt!" Blaine laughed, reaching for the radio dial. Kurt slapped his hand away and threw him a mock-glare.

"No," he said firmly, "you're driving. You need to concentrate."

"But Kuuuurt..." Blaine whined. He flashed his boyfriend an impressive puppy dog expression. They were driving along the highway between Westerville and Lima, on their way to see Rent at the local theatre. The empty forest flashed past the windows, a blur of dark green, and the aside from them, the road was completely empty.

"No!" said Kurt, but his glare faltered.

"But Kuuuurt," Blaine said again, already smiling his victory, "It's Pink! I love this song."

"So do I."

"Then why aren't you playing it! It needs to be sung with, Kurt! It's the rules!"

Kurt just narrowed his eyes. "It _is_," Blaine insisted.

Kurt sighed and turned up the volume, his boyfriend whooping with joy. "You are impossible," he said.

"Yeah," Blaine winked, "But you love me."

Kurt froze. They'd never used the L-word before. It was implied, but...

He was about to stutter a response when suddenly, everything turned upside down.

Blaine's smiling face has disappeared. Sound and colour were pinning all at once as the car pitched abruptly sideways with the screech of crushing metal. A scream, unclear from whom. Glass shattered around them and Kurt was jerked forward. The crunch of wood and glass and rubber - the car was rolling, hitting the kerb, slamming onto its side, its roof, its side. The roof caved in with a bang. Pain. Rolling. Slowing to a stop.

With a dying hiss the car came to a halt, pitched on its side against the trunk of a tree. Kurt gasped for air in the silence, head ringing, unsure. It was quiet for a sinister moment before Kurt remembered why it shouldn't be.

"Blaine?" he called.

_SLAM._

A large, giant-sized, groping fist burst its way through the shattered windscreen, and Kurt was sure he'd screamed. Dirty fingers fierce as talons scrabbled for a moment, clawing through the wreckage. Thoughtlessly, Kurt tried to beat it off, but he was pinned by his seatbelt.

The fist swatted at him, hitting him in the chest and knocking what little air he'd regained out of him. Then it spun away, grabbing at something next to him with a ripping noise. Kurt's eyed widened as Blaine was dragged bodily from the vehicle, eyes closed and arms limp. He didn't pause for thought as his eyes glowed orange, and a ball of fire shot from the windscreen and into the fist. His own seatbelt disintegrated in a burst of flame as he scrabbled after it, crawling from the wreckage.

He was fighting blindly, panicking. He shot another tongue of flame at the figure, willing it to stop its decent through the trees. It was unnaturally tall and fearsomely large.

_Monster, _he thought, his heart plummeting as he shot at it again. The trees around the figure burst into flame, speeding across his path like a wall, but the monster was too fast.

At the last moment it turned, catching Kurt in a cold, penetrating stare. It was ferocious. It was calculating. And mixed with that - much to Kurt's dismay - was steely recognition.

_We are the same, _it seemed to say.

And with that, the monster fled once more, leaving Kurt alone in the ruins.

* * *

><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Eight.<strong>

**Love it? Hate it? Reviews are welcomed, even if they are to throttle me about cliffhangers... ;)**

**Until next time,**

**Hannah.**


	10. Chapter Nine: One More Mission

Thanks: to the magical Lily Harper Knox.

Warning: still more angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or X-Men.

* * *

><p>It was all over the news by nightfall. Same old facts rotating on ticker tape, Blaine's photograph smiling warmly from the TV screen. Unaware of what danger he was in, unaware of the horror.<p>

"_Dad, dad? I need your help -"_

"_What? That you, Kiddo? Tell me what's wrong -"_

"_They took Blaine, dad. They took him and he's gone and my arm is bleeding-"_

"_Don't move kiddo, where are you? Just tell me where you are!"_

"_They took Blaine, oh my – he's gone – we need to find him..."_

Kurt stared blankly at the screen, unable – or unwilling – to look away for a moment. It was strangely fascinating. Surreal, to him. This odd dichotomy between the words he was reading and Blaine's smiling face. How could he be smiling? How could anyone smile?

All of New Directions were gathered in the main room of the lair by now, but it was quiet. Far quieter than Kurt could remember it ever being. They all knew now – about him and Blaine – but Kurt didn't really care anymore.

Finn so far was the only one he'd seen angry. He'd laid into Kurt as soon as he'd entered the room – "_How could you do that to us? With _him _of all people! Do you _know _who his father is? Did you want to get us killed?" _– but the rest had cut him off rather quickly, unnerved by the look on Kurt's face.

Mr. Schuester and his father had explained the situation, before excusing themselves to Mr. Schuester's study to discuss it further. Kurt wasn't sure what they'd said. He hadn't been listening; he'd barely even registered as Artie took his arm and began wrapping it in bandage. All he could see was Blaine's smiling face, winking as he said it:

"_But you love me._"

And it was true.

"Okay, we've reached our decision, guys!"

Kurt's head snapped up to Mr. Schuester, standing in the door of the room with his father. Everyone else turned to face them too.

"Now, we've assessed the situation and as it stands, it doesn't look good," Burt began, sighing deeply. "Based on what information we received through Artie's tapping the phone lines, Blaine Anderson is being held for ransom by a _mutant. _Guy named 'Hunter'."

"A mutant?" Santana repeated, "what, is he out for some sort of revenge or something?"

"We believe that's exactly what he's after," said Mr. Schuester. "His terms are for Brom Anderson to pull out of the running for Congress."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Tina frowned. Everybody except Kurt turned to look at her, confused.

"What?" she said, blankly, "It doesn't! Brom Anderson's 'mutant problem' campaign was already on rocky ground after that debate you guys had." She turned to face Burt. "Surely he would've dropped that angle already?"

"Well, the one thing we know for sure is that after this kidnapping, people aren't going to be looking too kindly on mutants anymore." Said Mr. Schuester. "They've kidnapped a teenage boy and are holding him for ransom. People don't like that."

"That's so bogus!" said Finn angrily, "What's this Hunter guy's problem? All he's doing is making things worse!"

"Exactly," said Mr. Schuester, nodding. "Which is why New Directions is going to have to step in."

He strode over to the front of the room to face them all clearly. "Alright, gang: I want everybody suited up! Artie, I want you to track down this Hunter guy and give us coordinates. Make sure there are surveillance cameras, or some way to catch this on film. We want everybody to know who it was that saved Blaine Anderson. We don't want people thinking Hunter is working on behalf of all the mutants – Kurt, what are you doing?"

Everybody turned to stare at Kurt, who had stood up and was following the rest of them to change.

"I'm suiting up." He said coolly, looking Mr. Schuester in the eye.

"No, you're not." said Burt, stepping forward. Kurt just looked at him. "You've got two broken ribs and a sprained wrist, buddy. You're sitting this one out."

For the first time that evening, Kurt's face showed some expression. His eyes darkened into a glare and his mouth formed a hard line.

"I'm going after Blaine." He said stubbornly.

Burt watched his son carefully as everyone slowly vacated the room. Finn tried to stay back, watching the altercation, but Rachel grasped his shoulder and pulled him along after the others.

"This isn't a discussion, Kurt." said his father, once they'd left, "I'm putting my foot down."

"Well what do you want me to do, huh?" Kurt snapped, his frustration finally surfacing, "just sit here and wait for news? Pray to the heavens that he's okay? I don't know if you caught it, Dad, but I really care about him and I'm not just going to leave this for other people to handle!"

"Yes you are Kurt! You were in an accident!" Burt stepped forward, but Kurt shot him a fierce glare. "Look, I know you're upset right now, but Blaine will be fine. You know your team, Kurt. They won't let him down."

"It's not about that." Kurt snapped.

"I know. I know what it's about. You care about Blaine." Burt sighed. "But running off to him now won't change anything. Dead or alive, Kurt, you won't be seeing Blaine again after this and you know it."

The two stood silently facing each other, the air filled with tension. Kurt was no longer glaring at his father, but staring down at the floor between them. His face was blank, different from how it had been before. He looked lost; hopeless. Burt had never seen him like this before, and it shook him.

"You knew it couldn't last, Kiddo." He continued on softly, more determined than before. "He's not like you. He's not safe for you." He took a deep breath: "...I forbid it."

The silence between them seemed to grow into a chasm at his words. "Kiddo?" he said.

"Just one more mission." Kurt lifted his head suddenly, his gaze hard. "Just this mission and then its over."

"I don't know, son-" he began, but was swiftly cut off.

"If you could've had the chance, would you have taken one to say good-bye to mom?"

Burt froze and looked at his son. Kurt was staring determinedly back at him. He then nodded slightly – as though he'd found his answer - before turning away.

"Its – that's completely different," Burt stuttered after him, mind still in shock.

Kurt was already by the door when he turned around and smiled sadly: "No." He said, turning away. "It really isn't."

Alone in that room, Burt had never felt so guilty in his life.

* * *

><p>His head hurt.<p>

That was the first thing Blaine felt as he slowly regained awareness. He almost wished he hadn't; it really was hurting rather badly now. Waves of pain seemed to be soaking through the cotton that was now his mind. His eyes were prickly and sore, like he hadn't been sleeping enough. He could feel his arms pulled behind his back, and his feet were bound – his head was lolling uncomfortably against his shoulder, which was pressed awkwardly against the cement floor. It ached dully, but he was too tired to move.

Yet as he came to, and awareness slowly returned to him, the need to move grew within his chest, like there was something important. Something important that he'd forgotten...

"Kurt?" he called out, his voice rough like paper.

The sound echoes off the blank walls and disappeared into the darkness. The room around him was large as far as he could tell, and made entirely of cement. In the distance, he could hear the steady dripping of water, but nothing else. No other noises and certainly no replies.

Where was he? Where was Kurt?

He knew they'd been together; his last clear memory was of his boyfriend's face. They'd been in his car, the radio had been playing, and...

"Kurt?" he called again.

There was nothing but silence.

Blaine's head ached in protest as he shuffled to his knees and quickly looked around. From this angle he could see his cell more clearly: It was indeed big and spacious, with empty crates and boxes stacked haphazardly here or there. He could see the door the door now, too – a large slab of cold grey metal, and a small barred window. Beyond those bars he saw nothing but gloom, and the only light he found was from the opposite wall's window. Pale and sickly moonlight filtered through the slats, inky black sky the only view.

At least now Blaine could be sure it was night-time, but this brought him little comfort. He still didn't know what day it was, and was surrounded by nothing but gloom. He was alone in here: No sign of his captors, and no sign of Kurt.

His captors.

He vaguely remembered a fearsome man with grizzly white hair. He'd been standing - in the centre of the room, perhaps – speaking softly to someone that hadn't been Blaine. Who had he been speaking to – Kurt? No, that didn't seem right...

His memory was too fuzzy, too vague to remember fully. He recalled watching Hunter – yes! Hunter was his name! – shifting and changing before his eyes. Growing taller, then shrinking. Fists extending into claws and changing again. Brom Anderson's voice, frightened and calling to him...Blaine had been hallucinating, clearly, yet somehow he couldn't be sure...

He groaned and shut his eyes at the thought, to chilling to entertain. _Monster, _his mind supplied, unhelpful, and he buried his face in his knees.

It was then that the sound of scraping metal filled the room, and the door began to slowly open.

Blaine looked up as Hunter entered the cell, was caught in the cold gaze of his captor.

"It's midnight, boy." The monster whispered. Blaine jumped a little, off-guard. His captor's voice was horrifying. It sounded like groaning branches. Creaking hinges. "You haven't much time left."

Blaine shivered at the words, and he couldn't prevent the helplessness that filled him. He was suddenly aware of just how alone he truly was here. Just how vulnerable. Just how scared.

"I-I'll scream." He stammered, but he knew it was useless.

Hunter just smiled. His grin was like the devil's. His figure seemed to fill the doorway, larger than it had ever been before.

"Scream, little mouse-child. Cry and sob to your mother. No one's there to hear you."

The air behind Hunter seemed to glow red like fire. Blaine was so scared, he was sure he'd imagined it at first, but –

"ARRRGHHH!"

A ball of raging fire burst through the doorway. Blaine heard Hunter's scream, but he couldn't see a thing. His eyes were shut against the sudden glare and he didn't open them again when it stopped.

He could hear the sounds of fighting; it filled his ears like thunder. When he dared look up again the room was filled with figures. Figures dressed in black. They surrounded Hunter like a flock of birds, diving and falling back, attacking all at once. Hunter's clothes and skin was scorched, but Blaine had barely noticed. The man was roaring like a beast, filling the air with his angry shouts. He towered over them all, now and kept growing. His head had reached the roof but didn't stop. With a burst of strength he'd smashed right through the ceiling. Cement and metal rained like glass over them all, falling to the floor with a thunderous crash.

Blaine fell to his side, his arms still bound and useless, as a shard of ceiling fell against his head. He heard his name being yelled, and for a confused moment thought it was Kurt. 

As Blaine fell, the rest of New Directions kept their sights set on the figure before them. Hunter roared once more from above them, hands curling into threatening fists.

Kurt forced his gaze back to the battle, eyes glowing orange behind his mask. A wall of fire burst over Hunter's head like a dome, preventing him from growing bigger. In the same moment, Quinn had his feet covered in slabs of ice. With a yell, she dodged the giant's fist, shooting icicles as she went.

Rachel had fallen behind, frowning in concentration. In one fell swoop, a block of concrete was raised from the ground and flying at his head. Hunter blocked it with a hulking arm the size of a tree trunk. It rebounded from him and fell crashing to the floor, scattering the fighters. He took another swipe at Finn, his boulder sized fist ready to damage, but amazingly, Finn was able to block the fist with his bare hands. Instead, the attack served a chance for Mercedes to shoot the giant a glare from her laser eyes, burning his arm in the process.

With the others taking care of Hunter, Kurt took the chance to fell behind. With one last glance at the group, Kurt hurried over to Blaine. He was lying prone on the floor, eyes closed and limbs tied.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, not expecting a response. His boyfriend's face was nicked and cut from the accident; they matched Kurt's own. His forehead was dripping blood from where the stone had hit him, and Kurt wiped it away with his sleeve. When he was sure the wound wasn't too deep, he turned his attention to Blaine's hands and feet.

Blaine groaned and opened shifted slightly, his head pounding worse than ever. As the noise and movement around him rushed back to his senses, he felt a warm sensation against his wrists, as though holding them close to a candle. He groaned again, and tried to move away, when a hand stopped him.

"Hold still Blaine, hold still ..." The voice echoed in his skull, soft and musical as the first time he'd heard it...

...He wondered if he was asleep again, but he could feel his skull pounding and the noise of fighting around him. Whatever the case, Blaine did hold still, until the warmth was gone in his hands and returned by his ankles ... he was dully aware he could move his arms again, but they felt like lead and he dismissed the idea...

The warmth disappeared once more, and Blaine rolled onto his back. The darkness was closing in again, but he didn't want to let go. There was a roar from somewhere, but all the sounds seemed distant...he could feel Kurt's hands on him, clinging to his shoulders. He forced his lids open against their will, to find Kurt, to ask him if he was okay...

...and came face to face with eyes that glowed like fire. It was the last thing he saw before falling unconscious once more.

* * *

><p>Richard Smythe stepped through the door and into the quiet of his echoing home. The events of that night were seared into his eyelids, mocking his failures and unsuccessful planning.<p>

Blaine Anderson had made it back home. He always would have in the end, had it all gone to plan. A few cuts and some bruises, but ultimately alright. Balance would have been restored to the world: mutants would be in their rightful place with the scum; Richard Smythe would be well and on his way to power.

He had assured Brom Anderson that they're campaign was still strong, and his words were not the product of blind false hope. Richard Smythe didn't believe in hope. He believed in fighting for success.

So when that first video had shown up, he'd found Hunter in the forests outside Columbus and he'd made the deal. He'd assured the monster immunity in return for his cooperation. He'd organised the terms of the ransom. He'd found a hideout for the monster and the boy. He'd made sure that the mutants were to blame and that their reputation for evil was restored once more. Blaine Anderson was a handsome boy, after all. And nobody liked it when handsome boys were kidnapped.

In fact, it had all been going rather swimmingly up until this point. The media had been shocked and the voters even more so. Public opinion polls had been set to go through the roof. By tomorrow afternoon, Blaine Anderson would have been found and returned home, Hunter would have magically escaped, mutants would be hated and Brom Anderson would have the voters in the palm of his hand.

Richard Smythe would have had the voters in the palm of his hand.

Curling his fingers into fists, he knew who it was to blame and he knew what he had to do to punish them. Richard Smythe smiled to himself, whistling tunelessly as he did. Like it or not, The New Directions were going down.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in Westerville, Blaine Anderson's phone lit up with one new message. It would be two days until he actually saw it and two days until his heart would be broken.<p>

_From: Kurt Hummel  
>We can't see each other anymore. But I want you to know that I love you and I'll miss you. And that I'm sorry.<br>Yours forever,  
>-Kurt<em>

* * *

><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Nine.<strong>

**Oh my gosh guys I am SO SORRY for these cliffhangers! I typed this entire episode in a day in apology for the last one :S**

**And I'm also sorry for the sad ending here, but have no fear! For if we know anything about Blaine Anderson, its that he never gives up hope.**

**Stay tuned for that in the next chapter, though!**

**Special thanks to all the reviews, and don't be afraid to leave one on this chapter! You can also check me out on my tumblr (ooh, snazzy!) at:**

**triedtolie dot tumblr dot com.**

**Until next time!**

** - Hannah :)**


	11. Chapter Ten: Beginning of the End

Warning: bad language!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or X-Men. Special thanks to the ever-talented Lily Harper Knox.

* * *

><p>The first time it happened, Kurt was lucky to have been the one answering the door. Finn was upstairs playing video games, and both Burt and Carole were at work. Kurt - who would normally have been flipping through the latest Vogue or singing along to the Wicked soundtrack – had been lying on his bed, debating with himself. He'd been trying to decide whether listening to Adele on repeat was sad and stereotypical, or a good outlet for his emotions. And while this would have seemed amusing to an outsider, to Kurt it was really the best he could come up with in handling his feelings. Because try as he might, he couldn't seem to shake of the blanket of loneliness that smothered him, and he couldn't escape from the guilt and hatred of the fact that really, he'd only done this to himself. He missed Blaine; so much so that he ached constantly and could do little more than lie on his bed and bask in it.<p>

Just as he'd begun mustering the energy to walk over and get his iPod, the doorbell had rung. He'd considered for a moment the prospect of wallowing and letting Finn get it, but deep down he knew that would never happen. With a sigh, he'd hauled himself to his feet and trudged downstairs to the entrance hall.

"Delivery for Kurt Hummel?"

When Kurt had opened the door, he couldn't help but gasp: Flowers.

A huge – no, _massive_ – bouquet of flowers, tied with bright green ribbon and bursting with colour, rested in the arms of the delivery man, waiting impatiently for him to quit his gaping.

"I…who are those from?" Kurt asked, the question spilling from him before his brain had a chance to form it.

"I'm guessing there's a card. You Kurt then?" The delivery man was looking truly bored at this point, so Kurt nodded, accepted the flowers, and closed the door.

Once that was done, the real trouble started. Because really, Kurt didn't have to even look at the card to know who the sender was. And neither would Finn, or his dad, or Carole.

In a snap decision, Kurt hurried up the stairs and headed for his room.

"Who was at the door?" Finn called out, still engrossed in his game.

"Just some guy handing out pamphlets!" Kurt answered. He ducked into his bedroom and closed the door.

He couldn't just leave the flowers out in the open; Carole came in sometimes to clean and his father had a tendency to invite himself over for a chat when bored. Kurt decided to keep the flowers hidden in the walk-in closet; not even Carole went in there, and it would mean he didn't have to throw them out.

Stowing them on one of the shelves by his hats, Kurt paused to pull off the note attached.

_Dear Kurt,_ (it said)  
><em>Please don't just leave me like this. I know you said you couldn't see me, but can we please at least talk about this? I love you too and I already miss you (I hope that isn't weird. Is that weird?)<br>Please call me.  
>Love,<br>Blaine_

_PS: I won't stop bothering you until we can talk about this, so the sooner you call me the sooner I can leave you alone. If that is what you want.  
>PPS: Is that what you want?<em>

When he'd finished reading it, Kurt had closed the closet door – himself still inside – and cried, hoping that Finn wouldn't hear him.

* * *

><p>The second time it had happened - a few days later - Kurt had been at school.<p>

He'd been sitting on the steps in the quad, eating lunch on his own as usual when he noticed the rest of his peers starting to whisper. When he looked up, he very nearly choked on his lettuce:

Standing on the steps not ten feet away from him, in full Dalton uniform, were the Dalton Academy Warblers. They were all in perfect formation eyes trained on him, with Blaine Anderson, taking front and centre.

"Greetings, McKinley High," said Wes, his voice reverberating around the now silent quad, "We are the Warblers. It has come to our attention that we will be competing against the McKinley Glee Club at Sectionals this year, and we have decided to welcome you as competitors in the only way we know how: through song."

Across the quad, Rachel Berry and the rest of the McKinley glee club listened warily, eyes on Wes. Kurt however, was staring wide-eyed at the lead soloist. He stepped forward solemnly as the rest of the boys began humming a quick tempo:

_I threw a wish in the well,__  
>Don't ask me - I'll never tell,<em>_  
>I looked to you as it fell,<em>_  
>And now you're in my way.<em>_  
>I trade my soul for a wish<em>_,__  
>Pennies and dimes for a kiss,<br>I wasn't looking for this,__  
>But now you're in my way<em>_._

_Your stare was holdin'__  
>Ripped jeans, skin was showin'<em>_  
>Hot night, wind was blowin'<em>_  
>Where do you think you're going, baby?<em>

If Kurt hadn't been staring before, now he certainly was. As the Warblers burst into the chorus, they all began to move and sing:

_Hey, I just met you and this is crazy,__  
>But here's my number, so call me maybe?<em>_  
>It's hard to look right at you baby,<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe?<em>

As they sang, the Warblers sashayed round the quad, singing sometimes to girls in the audience, and even handing out their numbers with a wink. Blaine just mixed and whirled among them, grinning with an infectious energy as he burst into the second verse. Kurt noticed that people were actually smiling along with him, and felt proud for a moment – until he remembered he wasn't supposed to.

_Your stare was holdin',  
>Ripped jeans,<em>_ s__kin was showin  
>Hot night, wind was blowin'<em>_  
>Where do you think you're going, baby?<em>

Kurt froze then, as Blaine turned around and glanced straight at him. Time seemed to freeze, and even from a distance Kurt could see it in his eyes: This was meant for him.

_Hey I just met you __a__nd this is crazy,_

_But here's my number, so call me maybe?__  
>It's hard to look right, at you baby,<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe?<em>_  
>Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe?<em>_  
>And all the other boys, try to change me,<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe?<em>

_Before you came into my life I missed you so bad,_

_I missed you so bad,  
>I missed you so, so bad<em>_.__  
>Before you came into my life I missed you so bad,<em>_  
>And you should know that,<br>I missed you so, so bad._

People were actually singing along and clapping at this point, but Kurt couldn't have joined them if he'd tried. All he could see was Blaine as he sung those lines. Unlike the rest of the Warblers, he wasn't smiling anymore.

_It's hard to look right, at you baby,__  
>But here's my number, so call me, maybe?<em>_  
>Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy,<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe?<em>_  
>And all the other boys try to chase me,<em>_  
>But here's my number so call me maybe.<em>

_Before you came into my life I missed you so bad,__  
>I missed you so bad,<br>I missed you so, so bad__  
>Before you came into my life I missed you so bad<em>_  
>And you should know that.<em>

_So call me maybe?_

And with that, the Warblers re-formed. With a final bow from Wes, they made their way from the courtyard, as though nothing had happened.

Kurt watched them go. He couldn't breath.

The rest of the McKinley High student body sat stunned for a while, before returning back to their normal conversations. Rachel and the rest of her club were whispering furiously amongst themselves. While Kurt knew that this would be the normal reaction of most people, he couldn't understand quite how the world could keep turning like nothing had happened; like the boy that he loved hadn't just told him in front of dozens of people that he missed him.

He also knew that as soon as they got the chance, the rest of the New Directions would be jumping on him for information. And what would he tell them? Flowers he could hide, but an entire performance? Not likely. He just hoped Finn wouldn't tell his dad.

Indeed, at Tuesday's meeting, Kurt was bombarded with questions:

"Did you know-?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Was that meant for you?"

"Can't you get rid of him?"

"GUYS!" Kurt yelled, effectively silencing them all, "I don't know why he was there and I certainly didn't planned it. He just turned up. I broke up with him, and we didn't say anything to each other, so please drop it, okay? This isn't an issue."

They'd all sat down reluctantly after that, and for the most part left him alone. Finn gave him one last, searching look.

"Well, he's cute, I'll give him that," said Tina, sitting beside Kurt. "I'm sure he'd really sweet."

She gave him a smile, and strangely, Kurt found himself smiling back. "Thanks, Tina." He said softly.

He didn't know why it meant so much, to have one of his friends approve of Blaine – especially now they were over – but when Tina said that, he found himself feeling a little better.

* * *

><p>Kurt had quit seeing Blaine Anderson a total of two weeks ago, and Mercedes was proud of him; she knew break-ups must be tough, but he was doing the right thing. And sure, he was crazy for have ever dating him in the first place but hey, everybody makes mistakes.<p>

But that boy was really pushing it: not Kurt, but Blaine. Tina had managed to wiggle out the story about the flowers from Kurt, and those coupled with the performance the other day were way overstepping. Mercedes figured the boy needed to be taught a lesson in moving on, but Kurt insisted she leave him alone.

She'd kept her promise so far, but it really only did so much. Because when she stepped out of school that day to see Blaine Anderson waiting in the parking lot, she really had no choice.

"Oh, no." she said to herself. "This is so not happening."

Praying Kurt was running late and wouldn't be there soon, she marched off quickly down the front steps of the school, trying her best to don the perfect bitch face.

"You are NOT welcome here," she said loudly, channelling her inner diva. The boy turned to her, stunned.

"…Do I know you?" he said blankly.

"You should," said Mercedes, "I'm a friend of Kurt's. And as such it is my job to tell you to back the hell off and get lost. You ain't welcome here, Anderson."

"Look," said Blaine, trying to calm her, "I'm not trying to cause trouble here. If I could just talk to Kurt-"

"Well you _can't_." Mercedes snapped, "Because if you do, it'll cause trouble."

Blaine gave her a confused and slightly hurt look. For a moment, Mercedes could see why Kurt liked him; the boy was cute. She almost regretted being so harsh to him. He probably didn't know what was going on, she realised. One day, he'd probably been recovering in hospital after a deeply traumatic experience and the next, he was on his own and his boyfriend wasn't speaking to him.

She wasn't even sure if Kurt had told him it was over.

She tried to imagine what it would be like if Sam just stopped talking to her; it would hurt like hell. If it happened to her, she'd have marched over to Sam's house and demanded an answer, too. Suddenly the flowers and singing seemed rather tame.

Feeling guilty, Mercedes sighed and began to talk. "Look, Blaine," she said, trying to be as nice as possible, "Kurt's dad forbade him from seeing you. And he's really cut up about it, and I'm sure so are you. But he can't talk to you anymore. And you can't just come around like this and make him. I'm sorry."

"His…his dad forbade him?" Blaine looked even more lost than before.

"I'm sorry," said Mercedes again, "but you need to leave."

Blaine just nodded blankly, before turning away. "Thanks," he said, not entirely forgetting his manners, before walking back to his car.

Mercedes watched him sadly, before turning back to face the school. To her surprise Kurt was standing there at the top of the steps, watching Blaine too. When he caught her eye, he gave her a sad smile, before turning away and heading back through the doors.

Mercedes followed immediately, dodging through students until she entered the main hallway. She began checking through the windows of each classroom, figuring Kurt would be alone. It was clever of him; what with everyone leaving, nobody would walk in on them.

She finally found him at the end of the hall, and slipped quietly through the door.

"Hey, boo." She said.

Kurt looked up from where he was standing, leaning against one of the desks. Mercedes realised he was crying, and went over to hug him.

"Hey, no crying, boo. No crying." she said. He just buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing quietly. It was funny, Mercedes thought as she rubbed circles on his back: she'd always just assumed Blaine to be the enemy; someone to avoid at all costs. She'd never imagined him as who he was: a sweet, caring teenage boy. Kurt breaking up with him had seemed like an obvious decision, and while she hated to admit it, she'd never really thought about what Kurt thought.

"I know it's hard, Kurt," she cooed, "I know you miss him."

He mumbled something unintelligible into her shirt.

'Say that again for me in English?"

"I'm in love with him." Kurt hiccupped, wiping his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Mercedes replied, knowing it wasn't enough.

"It's not your fault," said Kurt. He sat up, sniffing. "I knew it'd end eventually. I was just hoping it wouldn't be this soon."

He sighed and leaned back against the desk again, swiping at a few stray tears, "It's lonely, you know?" he said, after a while: "living like this. Too scared to let anyone get too close. I mean, I love you and everyone else in New Directions, but…"

"It's not the same?" Mercedes supplied.

Kurt nodded. "It's not the same."

They sat there a little while longer, until Kurt had stopped crying and was ready to face the world again.

"C'mon," said Mercedes, pulling him to his feet a while later. "How about I call Rachel and we bend the rules and have a secret romcom night at my place. I'm sure your dad'll understand? And I'll supply the ice-cream?"

Kurt nodded and smiled, and with one last hug Mercedes left the room first, the promise of Ben and Jerry's lifting their moods.

* * *

><p>"<em>In other news, it looks as though the monster debate in Ohio has just gotten bigger! Meet the 'Michigan Monsters': Detroit's very own mutant taskforce!"<em>

The screen cut to a photograph of four grinning teens, clad in green masks, capes and tights.

"_Taking cue from Lima's controversial crime fighters – The New Directions – these mutant teens have set about proving themselves not incapable of doing the right thing._

"_They are not the first set of impersonators, though-"_

The screen filled with more and more shots: groups of people young and old, all dressed in masks and costumes, caught in various states of fighting crime.

"_- In places as far as Dallas, Texas, Mutant crime fighters and Samaritans have sprung up from obscurity with the sole intentions of doing good."_

The camera returned to the reporter for her final words:

"_After years of violence and hatred between mutants and humans, could the tables be finally turning? We'll be discussing that and more, at ten. Back to you, Ted."_

* * *

><p>For Burt, over the past couple weeks it had become increasingly easier to justify his actions on the night Blaine was kidnapped. Because as difficult as it was to watch his son like this, Burt knew the importance of why it was he'd behaved that way; why he'd forbidden his son from ever seeing Blaine Anderson again.<p>

Even though when he looked at his son his stomach had tied itself in knots of guilt and regret, Burt knew he'd had to do this. Even though it physically stung to watch his son's heartbreak, deep down he knew he had to be cruel to be kind. And at the end of the day, he was doing this for only one reason: it was the same reason he'd moved to Lima all those years ago; the same reason he'd refused to remarry till Carole; and the same reason he'd run for congress in the first place.

He had to keep his son safe.

So When Blaine Anderson turned up one day in his shop – looking pale and determined and _tired _– Burt knew what he had to do.

"You…you probably know why I'm here," Blaine began sheepishly, once he'd introduced himself. He'd offered his hand to shake, but Burt had merely looked at it. Now, he had both hands fisted in the pockets of his coat – one that Burt knew his son would definitely have approved of.

In fact, Burt noted, Kurt would have approved of everything belonging to the boy in front of him: not just the clothes, or the hair, but the wide earnest eyes and that aura of hopefulness. Blaine Anderson both looked and acted as though he'd stepped out of a fifties movie, something that until now, Burt hadn't figured as possible. Looking at the innocent boy in front of him, he realised regretfully that had it been any other way, Kurt wouldn't have been the only one who approved of Blaine Anderson too. He would have too. The world could be a very cruel place.

"I wanted to talk to you about Kurt." Said Blaine, breaking the silence that had been growing between them.

Burt turned away under the pretence of wiping his grease-stained hands. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he steeled himself for what he was about to do and turned back. His expression was stony.

"There's nothing to talk about." He said flatly, dropping the rag.

Blaine visibly gulped at his tone, but continued on anyway: "I know that you don't approve of me, sir," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "and I can fully understand that. I'm your rival's son, and that-"

"-I'm gonna stop you right there, kid." Said Burt, his voice cold as ice.

Blaine fell silent immediately.

"Firstly: you understand _nothing _about me and my decisions so don't bother pretending like you do. You think you can just waltz in here and charm your way into my son's life, but I'm here to tell you, you're dead wrong."

Burt paused to let his words sink in, willing his expression not to falter. Blaine was staring at him helplessly, like a puppy he'd just kicked.

"Secondly," he continued, and he was surprised he could still manage to be so cold: "Yes, you're Brom Anderson's son. But don't be so arrogant as to call him my 'rival'. Your father poses no threat to me, kid, or my campaign. Don't flatter yourself into believing he is anything more. No, the reason I don't approve of you seeing my son is because I raised him better than that. You and your family are the types of people in this world who care for nothing but power, are too proud to admit to their shortcomings, but too keen to see the shortcomings in others."

It was here that Burt paused for a moment, before continuing. He allowed himself to look now at Blaine Anderson, who was standing wide-eyed before him now. His face was even paler than before and he looked like he was about to cry. Through all of this, Burt had assumed that the worst thing he would have to face was the broken heart of his own son. Now, looking into they eyes of the boy before him, he could see how wrong he had been.

"I raised my son," said Burt, soft and slow as though testing the words in his mouth, "to deserve better. That is why I don't approve. My son deserves better than you. And there is nothing – absolutely nothing – you can say or do that's going to change that. Now get out of my shop."

Burt heard Blaine's retreating footsteps, but he didn't wait to see them. He had turned his back once more, staring blankly at the car engine before him, and wondering why if he were doing the right thing it felt so wrong.

* * *

><p>Mongrel looked up at the estate in distaste, his scarred face pulled into a grimace.<p>

He had been one of the greatest gangsters Ohio had ever seen. He'd gotten away with murder, extortion, kidnapping and worse. He'd been the most feared of all men, the most ruthless and successful. He'd been on his way to securing one of the greatest smuggling schemes this state had ever seen, and where had that gotten him? Standing in front of some rich fucker's mansion, next to the duck pond and opposite the footbridge.

But these had been the conditions. He'd been forced into this agreement by some mysterious stranger who'd posted his bail, in return that he meet them here, in this fucking Botanical Garden.

"Ah, Mongrel I presume?"

The man who approached him was almost exactly what Mongrel had expected: Middle-aged and well dressed, smiling with all the foolish authenticity of a politician. His hand was extended for Mongrel to shake – like that would ever happen – and the gangster wondered if he knew exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

"I wouldn't presume anything if I was you," Mongrel growled threateningly, his scowl darkening. He'd expected the man to be intimidated, but he proved himself to be made of harder stuff. His eyes hardened slightly, but his smile only grew mocking.

"Come now, Mongrel. Let's not waste our time with petty threats. If it weren't for me, you'd still be rotting in prison, after all. And I think you may be interested in what I have to offer you."

This was what Mongrel had been waiting for: the business deal. This man wanted something from him, and was sure he was going to get it. Either he was a naïve idiot, or he was more conniving than his pressed suit pants suggested. Either way, Mongrel didn't appreciate his tone.

"Look, you self-righteous fucker. Don't tell me what I will and won't do, or you'll regret the day you were fucking born. Tell me what it is you want, and don't bother making it pretty, or I'll take the pretty right out of you with my _fist_."

At this, the man seemed to shrink slightly – but only slightly – before nodding impatiently and continuing on.

"Yes, yes, I wasn't suggesting anything, no offense meant and all that. I merely meant I have a proposition for you. A way to exact revenge on those who thought they could mess with you."

"The New Directions," Mongrel spat. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," the man smiled menacingly, "The New Directions. As it so happens, you and I have a common enemy. We both want the same thing: to see them defamed and torn apart by the public for the monsters that they are."

"Defamed?" Mongrel scoffed. He pulled a knife from his pocket and began cleaning his nails with it, "I want them roasted on a spit till they extinguish themselves with their tears. I want them thrown off a building and fed to the pigeons. I want them fucking crucified and left to rot for all to see."

"And you can have all of that," the man said smoothly, "if you'll agree to my plan."

"And who might you be?" said Mongrel, realising he didn't have a name.

"Richard Smythe," the man introduced himself, "your new partner in crime."

* * *

><p><strong>Thus ends Chapter Ten.<strong>

**Hey guys! Sorry this chapter was so choppy - its basically a filler before the beginning of the end. From now on there are going to be many things happening, and next chapter is going to be INTENSE (because I'm an INTENSE WRITER *points*).**

**So yeah, review and let me know what you think! You guys are all amazing and thank you so much for all your reviews and alerts so far :')**

**Till next time,**

** - Hannah**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Discoveries

Once again, thank you to my lovely beta, Lily Harper Knox.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any Superhero franchise of any kind.

* * *

><p>Blaine woke with a start, his heart pounding and his ears ringing. It was pitch dark and for a long while he was scared to move.<p>

_Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream _he thought quickly, willing himself to calm down.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, too scared to move. It felt like a long time to him, but in his panic he couldn't be sure. Finally, too hot beneath his blankets, and despite his racing heart, he allowed himself to move. Sitting up, he reached over and turned on his bedside lamp. The gloom melted away immediately: leaving him not in a cold cement cell, but safe and sound in his bedroom once more. Surrounded in the yellow glow of light, Blaine found his hands had stopped shaking, and he was able to think clearly. He realised then that he'd been crying.

Sitting up against his headboard and taking deep breaths, he replayed the nightmare over in his mind. He'd been having them a lot lately: dreams in which he hadn't been saved from Hunter's clutches; alternate realities that ended in his death. Yet this one had been different. Still as horrible, still gut-wrenchingly scary, but …

_He had been trapped again, lying prone on the cell floor. He saw Hunter, standing before him in all his ferocity, blocking out all else with a looming raised fist._

_In his dream Blaine had tried to scream. He'd opened his mouth and was met with nothing but silence. He remembered raising his arms to shield his face in a last-ditch effort. Heard Hunter's booming laugh. At the same time, his hands were tied behind his back._

_Suddenly the room erupted in flames. He opened his eyes and stared at Kurt, who was standing alone in the centre of the room. He was dressed in a suit, the same as when Blaine had first met him – but he wasn't the same as Blaine remembered. Turning to meet his stare, he saw Kurt's eyes glow orange._

_Hunter reared his head in anger – but he wasn't Hunter anymore, but he was – facing Kurt with a glare. But his face did not belong to him: It was Blaine's father now who was glaring, a disapproving frown that was oh so familiar…_

_Hunter raised his hand threateningly – or was it Brom's hand? – And made to strike:_

"_WE MUST KILL THEM BEFORE THEY KILL US!" He bellowed, Brom's voice echoing from his mouth._

_Blaine made to scream again, to warn Kurt of the danger, but his voice was still gone and it was too late._

_Just as Hunter's blow fell, Burt Hummel burst into the room. At the same time, a blinding flash of light engulfed his son, obscuring him from view._

_Blaine was running. The room was dark again and Hunter was gone. He knelt down in the centre of the room, where Kurt lay lifeless. This must have been when Blaine had started crying. He remembered hot tears trailing down his cheeks as he reached over and took Kurt's hand in his._

"_He could have done better than you," Burt Hummel whispered behind him, "Why couldn't you admit you were wrong?"_

_Blaine just held Kurt tighter, wishing they would understand. He loved Kurt, he wouldn't hurt him. He didn't want to hurt anybody …_

"_You'll only cause him trouble boy," it was the voice of Kurt's friend; "we have to keep him safe."_

"_Keep him safe from what?" Blaine asked, helpless._

"_Keep him safe from Monsters."_

_When Blaine looked down, Kurt's eyes were watching him, and the world erupted in flame._

He hadn't realised he'd been doing it, but Blaine now found himself seated before his computer. The main light was on, and the screen was whirring into life. His mind was turning, spinning. It felt as though everything was clicking into place: pieces of information he hadn't thought to put together. Things his subconscious had known all along, had tried to tell him in his sleep. Suddenly, he knew what to do.

His heart was racing, and it had nothing to do with nightmares.

* * *

><p>So maybe Kurt wasn't as strong-willed as everyone thought. In fact, he was entirely capable now and then of lapsing judgement. He'd already proved it, back when he thought dating Blaine Anderson in secret was a good and harmless idea. And he was proving it again now as he turned in and parked at the end of the boy's street.<p>

Although maybe all that really proved was that Kurt was rather bad at saying no to Blaine. And that Blaine had hypnotically sparkly eyes. Kurt couldn't be blamed for somebody else's eyes now, surely?

Either way, he'd received a text message earlier that day during AP History. All it had read was:

_Can you at least give me one last good-bye? Midnight at my house? I love you._

And how could he say no to that?

As he made his way up the Anderson's lengthy drive, he tried to still the nerves and guilt he felt; his father didn't know he was here, and Kurt was surely going behind his back in doing this. But he felt like this was something he needed to do, if not for Blaine, then for his own peace of mind and closure. This was something that a lone text message couldn't give him.

As he ascended the Anderson's front steps, he wondered briefly what he would do if Blaine tried to text him again after tonight. He liked to think he would ignore it. He liked to think many things.

With a steadying breath, he knocked on the door.

"Kurt?" The door opened slightly as Blaine Anderson stared wide-eyed at him. Kurt tried to speak, but found his voice gone. Instead, he felt his eyes filling up with tears. Blaine was here, standing right in front of him and looking beautiful as ever.

And then they were hugging, Blaine's arms wrapped around his neck, his face pressed into Kurt's neck.

"I didn't think you'd show," he sniffed. Kurt just held on tighter, gripping the back of Blaine's shirt.

They ended up on Blaine's bed, laying side by side, arms wrapped lazily around one another. They weren't speaking; Kurt supposed there was nothing to say. Instead he rested his head on Blaine's shoulder and closed his eyes, committing it all to memory. The feeling of being held and loved washed through him, and he wished he could bottle it up and keep it forever.

Blaine stroked his fingers through Kurt's hair, thinking. He'd been wondering about this moment for hours on end now. Seeing Kurt again, knowing now what he knew now. He'd imagined everything would change, that it wouldn't be the same, but it was. He'd expected Kurt to look different, somehow - as though the mere knowledge of what he was would turn him from Blaine's sweet boyfriend into something dangerous and frightening. Yet as Kurt sighed softly in his arms, his thumb tracing circles on his shoulder, all Blaine felt was comfort; warmth. He didn't feel scared, like he'd imagined. He felt safe.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He was surprised when Kurt spoke. He realised the boy had been watching him, and he hadn't noticed. Blaine looked into those blue eyes, a picture of innocence, and sighed.

He sat up shakily, pulling out of Kurt's hold. The other boy pulled away and sat up too, frowning slightly at Blaine's sudden change in mood. "Blaine, what's wrong?"

Blaine just shook his head, struggling to find the words. He had to be honest, to tell Kurt what he knew. But it was difficult.

"I suppose I should explain this from the beginning." He said slowly, glancing up. Kurt just watched him, face blank. There was no turning back now. Steeling himself, Blaine began speaking:

"You obviously know about what happened a while ago; I mean … you were in the car when it happened, and the one moment we were fine and the next…" he let out a shuddering breath. "When I came to, I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know where you were either. You'd been right next to me, and then you were gone, and I wasn't sure if you'd made it out or if you were somewhere close by and I couldn't see you or…"

"I was fine, Blaine," Kurt said, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, "I got out and I was fine; I went home."

Blaine shook his head, smiling sadly. "No you didn't."

Kurt looked confused.

"I mean, you might have at first, but there's no need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying -"

"Yes you are." Blaine didn't shout, his voice was calm and resigned, but Kurt stopped in his tracks. "All I remember from that night, Kurt, was when I was rescued. The fire, the people, all dressed in black. All with those powers. I don't think I need to tell you who they were.

"I heard your voice, Kurt. And until yesterday I'd pushed it aside, imagined myself to have been hallucinating or something but I figured it out. I know you were there, I've figured it all out."

"I wasn't there Blaine," said Kurt, his voice calm and gentle, "you were frightened and hurt-"

Blaine stood up, stepping out of Kurt's soothing grasp. "Please don't lie to me, Kurt."

Kurt looked at him and frowned, "Blaine, I'm not lying. And you're really kind of scaring me now, so please just sit down."

But Kurt didn't look scared. To anyone else he might have, but Blaine knew him too well. To him Kurt only looked on edge; he looked guarded. He knew it was time now to go all out, to tell Kurt everything.

"You moved to Lima when you were nine," he said softly.

Kurt froze, surprised. This wasn't what he'd been expecting, but Blaine continued: "It was the year after your mother had died. That's what you told me, Kurt. Isn't it? That she died in a house fire? You were only eight years old…"

"Stop it." Kurt snapped, but his eyes were wide. Blaine continued:

"You must have been terrified. You must have disappeared quite suddenly, before anybody figured it out."

"You're mad, Blaine. Just stop it."

"There were articles in the local paper about it. About who they suspected had done it. With a young mother dead, her husband and eight-year old son's bodies never found, people suspected foul play. They suspected arson, but there was no cause. They say the fire started in the child's bedroom, but how could that have happened? How does a fire just start in the middle of an eight-year-old's bedroom Kurt?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"- And it's funny, because the only other mutant who can control fire is a known member of New Directions, Kurt! And I'd guess he's the same age now as that boy from that article would be. And he's the same age as you. Isn't that funny, Kurt? Isn't it funny how things work out like that?"

"So _what?_" snapped Kurt, standing up, "how does that have to prove _anything?_"

"I _know _you were there Kurt!" Blaine answered, his voice pleading, "I _know. _I heard your voice and I saw your eyes, so please don't lie to me!"

Kurt didn't answer, though. Instead, he made towards the door, bolting.

Blaine almost didn't have time to react, shooting after the other boy. Luckily, he managed to grab Kurt's arm and pull him back into the room.

"Let go of me!"

"Kurt, stop!"

Blaine struggled to maintain his grip on Kurt, who was panicking now in his efforts to escape. Suddenly, though, Blaine jerked back with a gasp, letting go as though burned. Exactly as though burned.

Kurt gasped as Blaine stepped back in shock, clutching his hand. He froze in horror as what he'd done sunk in. "Oh my gosh," he said, shaking, "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry-"

Blaine realised then that Kurt had reached the end of his emotional tether. He sat down on the floor, hands shaking as he began to cry, overwhelmed and in shock.

"I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to, I swear! I'm sorry! Please don't tell them, _please!_ My dad – it'd kill him, please-!"

Blaine could feel himself staring, but he couldn't move. Kurt was kneeling in the middle of his bedroom floor, pleading him. Pleading for his life. Too late, Blaine realised he should have expected a reaction like this: He knew the laws in place against mutants; he should have expected Kurt to be scared. It was the same reason he'd been yelled at by Mr. Hummel and pushed away by Kurt's friend: it was panic, and fear for Kurt's life.

It made him sick. Looking at Kurt now, helpless and innocent, Blaine wondered how anyone could be so hateful as to want him dead. How could someone be so cruel as to leave innocent people living in fear because of things they couldn't control? For all this talk of monsters, wasn't that the most monstrous thing of all?

"Don't cry," Blaine whispered, moving forward. He slowly knelt on the floor beside Kurt, wrapping his arms around the other boy. "It's okay Kurt. I won't tell. You have nothing to be afraid of."

As he pressed small kisses into Kurt's hair, Blaine could feel him calming down, his breathing evening out slowly. He was still crying though, but Blaine could tell it was more from shock than fear now. He kept whispering to him, though he wasn't quite sure what he'd said. He hoped his tone was helping though, lulling Kurt into a sense of comfort once more.

They stayed like that for a long time; Blaine rocking them back and forth just so, in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Even once Kurt had stopped crying, they'd remained huddled together on the floor, Kurt's head on Blaine's chest.

"You know," said Blaine after a while, "as comfortable as my carpeting is, there is a bed right there."

He was surprised to hear Kurt giggle, and moved out of Blaine's lap. Blaine got carefully to his feet, offering Kurt his right hand to help him up.

"Thank you-" Kurt started, but stopped, "Your hand." He said sharply.

"What about it?" Blaine replied brightly, feigning innocence, but Kurt wasn't having any of it. Before he could move, Kurt had grabbed his left wrist, holding the palm out in full sight.

"I've hurt you." He said, dismayed.

It was true: The skin of his palm was red and blistered, as though he'd pressed it against hot metal. It looked horrible; Blaine hadn't even noticed it before, but now he could feel it throbbing painfully.

"It's not a big deal," he said hurriedly, noting Kurt's expression. But the other boy ignored him, staring carefully at Blaine's hand.

"Where's your first aid kit?" he asked, frowning. Blaine wanted to lie and say he didn't need it, but he wouldn't be fooling anyone. They could both see just how bad it was. The only way to make Kurt less upset now was just to go along with him.

"In the kitchen." Blaine sighed, and followed behind Kurt as the boy drew him along by the wrist.

Once downstairs, Kurt wordlessly shoved Blaine onto one of the bar stools, closest to the sink. Rinsing his hand under the cold water, Blaine watched as he pulled out the first aid kit with a sour expression. They didn't speak, aside from Kurt's "this will sting a bit" when he put on the burn cream.

It was only once it was bandaged up that Blaine smiled at Kurt and said: "There! Good as new!"

He didn't expect Kurt to return his smile, so he wasn't disappointed. In fact, Kurt still looked upset.

"Hey," said Blaine, slipping off the bar stool and coming up beside him, "don't look at me like that; I'm _fine_."

He lifted up his bandaged hand and wiggled his fingers. Kurt sighed and rested his head on Blaine's shoulder: "I'm sorry." He said sadly.

"For what?"

Kurt scoffed, "For burning you, first of all," he said bitterly, "Not to mention lying to you, then dumping you by text message and ignoring you…"

"You didn't lie to me," Blaine interrupted.

"I didn't tell the truth." Kurt replied.

"Well, you had a good reason," said Blaine, "if anyone should be sorry, it's me. I mean, man, you must _hate _my dad."

This won him a smile, small and bright on Kurt's face: "Only what he's doing." He said warmly.

"He's trying to kill you!"

Kurt just glanced at him in wonder: "I can't believe you don't."

Blaine shot him a hurt look, and Kurt immediately regretted saying it: "Why would I want you killed? Why would you think that?"

Kurt shrugged guiltily. "I'm a mutant. I wouldn't blame you if you did. I entered this relationship knowing full-well that could be the case."

Blaine frowned, stepping away to face him fully. "Kurt," he said seriously, meeting the other boy's eyes, "I want you to listen, and I want you to listen carefully: I love you. I love you, and I could never imagine hurting you. And I could never imagine you hurting me, or anyone else for that matter. I don't care how powerful you are, how dangerous your powers are, because I trust you and I know how good you are, and how kind."

He pulled Kurt into a hug then, wrapping his arm firmly around his shoulders. "I love you, Kurt Hummel." He said softly.

"I love you too," Kurt said, teary-eyed once more. "I love you too."

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><p>Sometime later they made their way back to Blaine's room, and sometime after that they fell asleep, curled up in each other's arms on Blaine's bed.<p>

They remained this way all night, and as morning crept in, bathing them both in the light from Blaine's window. It wasn't until Kurt's phone went off that they woke up, suddenly startled by the buzzing cell.

"Mph, what time is it?" Blaine groaned, rubbing his eyes and disentangling his limbs from Kurt's. Kurt didn't answer, too intent on scrabbling to retrieve his phone.

"Oh no," he said, sitting up as he read through his messages. At his expression, Blaine sat up too.

'What is it?" he asked.

"It's my dad," Kurt said, turning to look at him, "he found my room empty when he got up for work. He wants to know where I am."

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><p><strong> So Ends Chapter Eleven<strong>

**Hey guys! Sorry this took so long! Life got in the way, and things have been hectic. The good thing is though, I have the next chapter all planned out, as well as the rest of this story. Only an estimated six chapters to go!**

**So anyway, how have you guys been? What do you think? I'm sorry for breaking all your hearts last chapter, but it had to be done. Does this make up for it? *bats eyelashes***

**And here is a note from my beta, even though its full of lies:**

**Dearest Readers of Monster,  
>I sincerely apologize that it's taken this long for you to receive the latest chapter of Monster. Do not blame this wonderful author, as it was my fault you are only now able to read this magnificent chapter. Fear not, for I shall never let school get in the way of my beta-ing again. I know my priorities.<br>Sincerely,  
>LH Knox [The worst Beta ever]<strong>

**(Personally, I think this note makes her the best beta ever. So yeah. She's the best)**

**Anyway, until next time! Much love!**

**- Hannah**


	13. Chapter Twelve: Interlude

Thanks once again to my magnificent beta: Lily Harper Knox

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any franchise of superheroes.

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><p><em>An Interlude...<em>

Wide eyes swivelled this way and that, filled to the brim with childlike inquisitiveness. To them the hustle and bustle of a hospital corridor was not a place of stark cleanliness and silence: each step and each door provided a gateway into another world. The sober efficiency of nurses at their station became the hull of a space ship in full voyage. The shuffle of patients in matching gowns, whose slippers had them appear as part of one giant sleepover.

To a little boy this was all very new and exciting, and the child couldn't help but wonder at everyone else's general gloominess. Were they not just aching with curiosity like he was? Didn't they just want to peer into all the rooms and investigate? Not to mention all the new people to talk to. The boy often found himself shy when around strangers, but that didn't seem to dull his idea's potential…

"Come along, Sweetheart." His mother urged, pulling on his hand as he lagged. The boy blinked twice and quickened his pace, two of his small steps for each of hers.

They were going to visit Granny, he'd been told, but the boy wasn't as excited about that: nervous, yes, but definitely not excited. Before they left, his Momma had sat him down sternly and made him _promise _to behave: he wasn't allowed to talk or touch anything, and he wasn't allowed to pester. He was to sit tight and not wander of again like he did sometimes at the park or the supermarket. He'd never had these rules when he went to see Granny before, and it made him anxious. So he followed along, clutching Momma's hand and trying to look everywhere at once until they got to Granny's room.

His Momma knocked on the door lightly, calling: "Patti? We're here to see you. Say hi to Granny, Sweetheart."

"Hello," the boy mumbled, feeling suddenly shy. The anxious feeling was back. Granny just stared at him blankly, and Momma sat him down in the chair by the door. She herself sat in the chair by the bed, taking Granny's hand in hers.

Granny didn't look like she normally did: she was wearing a gown like the others, but the boy thought it didn't suit her. He had never seen her without her spangled shawls and pearls and lipstick before. Instead her face was pale and papery, and more wrinkly than ever. She wasn't smiling at him, or talking and laughing loudly. She didn't even _smell _like Granny: that overpowering scent of lavender was gone, replaced with cold air and that airplane smell. But the worst were the wires: the boy almost couldn't tell where Granny ended and they began, and it looked as though she were drowning in them. In fact, she looked tiny compared to the rest of the room, with its mint green walls and flowery comforters.

The boy kicked his feet lightly. He wanted to save Granny from the wires, but Momma had told him not to touch anything, and Momma knew what she was doing. Right now she was talking calmly to Granny in her nightmare voice – it was the soothing one she used when he had bad dreams to make him fall asleep.

But it didn't seem right in this room, and it wasn't soothing at all. The boy didn't like listening to it here, and not to Granny when she looked like this. He could feel the anxious feeling getting worse, so he slipped out of his chair and waited in the hallway, where he couldn't see his Granny and he wasn't very scared. He sat down on the floor by the door - so his Momma wouldn't say he'd wandered off – and stared curiously down the hall at the people coming and going.

He could see doctors in white coats, like the ones on Momma's show, but he didn't recognise any of them and they didn't look friendly. Neither did the nurses for that matter; they were all just talking seriously and holding papers. It seemed boring, not like Momma's show at all.

The boy watched as an old man shuffled down the hall on a walker, wheezing slightly as he made for the lift. A nurse came over to help him, but he just waved her off and continued alone, grimacing as he went. He paused for a moment outside granny's door, right next to the boy, frowning and catching his breath.

He caught sight of the boy's wide eyes staring, and turned to face him.

"Who're you?" he asked, wheezing, "You lost?"

"No," said the boy, as nicely as possible, "I'm waiting for my Momma. She's just inside this room." He gave the old man his best smile, to try and cheer him up. The old man looked at him thoughtfully, before glancing into the room.

"Terrible business, all this." He said, more to himself than the boy, "Poor Patti was never the same after her husband died. I'm guessing you're her grandson?"

The boy nodded, too shy to find anything to say.

"Well," said the old man with finality, "You seem like a very good lad, you do. If you'll excuse me," and he continued on his way.

"Hey wait!" said the boy after a moment. Forgetting his mother's words, he hurried after the old man, who by now had reached the elevator. Before the man could move, he reached over triumphantly and pushed the call button, so the old man wouldn't have to stretch. It didn't look like he could've if he tried.

"Thank you, son!" The old man said, smiling a gummy smile. The boy smiled back, glad to have cheered him up. He watched as the old man coughed slightly, curious once more.

"Are you sick?" he asked, in the innocent way of a child.

The old man nodded indulgently and coughed again. "My lungs ain't what they used to be. It's what I get for smoking all those cigars."

"Cigars are bad for you." Said the child knowingly.

"I agree," the old man smiled, "that's why my lungs are so bad."

"I hope you feel better," said the boy, brows knitting into a concerned frown. He remembered last winter, how he'd gotten a cough and had to take that awful syrup. Know wonder this poor old man was sad; he was sad now too.

Wordlessly, the boy reached out a hand and rested it upon the old man's. His hands were warm against the wrinkled skin, the heat spreading into the old man's hand and into his veins. The lift pinged and slid open its doors and the boy let go of his new friend's hand.

"Thank you son," the old man said, smiling down at him kindly. His eyes seemed brighter, and his skin less sallow as he entered the lift and pressed the button. As the doors swept closed, he breathed deeply and was surprised to find he didn't cough…

Meanwhile, in the hall, the little boy felt suddenly dizzy. Very dizzy. Everything was moving and his stomach felt funny. He was scared to move, in case he fell or threw up, but he couldn't just stand in the hallway, and he was starting to feel scared. Stumbling slightly, he went to find his Momma.

He lurched into the room once more, where his Momma was still whispering to Granny. He tottered over to her chair and grabbed her sleeve, gripping it with all his might to keep the world from spinning.

"Not now, Sweetheart, Momma's talking," his mother began impatiently, shooing him back to his seat.

"But I don't feel well," the boy moaned, hoping that she'd hug him; he really did feel awful. The dizziness was clearing now, but he still felt weird and clammy.

"Who's this now, dearie? What's going on?"

His Momma looked at him, very upset, before turning back to Granny, "Nobody, Patti. I'll be just a moment."

But her son's head had cleared enough for the curiosity to return, and he asked: "what's wrong with Granny?"

"Nothing, Sweetheart, Granny's just a little ill. Go back to your-"

But the boy had reached over, frowning again as he grabbed Granny's hand where it lay on the bed. His skin was warm against hers, and the effect was instantaneous.

"Oh my!" said Granny, jumping and looking startled, blood rushing to her cheeks. "Lambie, is that you?" she asked, recognising her grandson.

At the same time, the boy let go of her hand, swept up in an overwhelming sense of nausea. Nobody noticed as he fell to the floor.

"Patti, are you okay?" said his Momma, surprised by her sudden lucidity.

"Of course I'm okay! Never better!" said Granny sharply, "In fact, I feel like a load of cotton wool just fell from my ears! It's the strangest feeling."

Momma looked shocked, and for her part so did Granny. They turned their attention then upon the boy, who groaned softly from the floor and rubbed at his head.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" gasped Momma, scooping him into her arms, "you must feel terrible! Come on, I'll take you home."

For some reason she felt shaky, like something strange had happened. It hadn't, obviously: her mother-in-law had surely just had a lucid moment, although they came few and far in between nowadays. It had been unexpected and it had unsettled her, was all. Nevertheless, she held her son close as she said goodbye to Granny and hurried down the hall.

On the ground floor she paused when she noticed an elderly patient surrounded by nurses, saying: "I'm cured, I tell you! I've never felt better in my life!" he was waving his arms emphatically, shoving away his walker in excitement, "I can breath!"

She froze when the man glanced her way and waved.

"Hello, my boy!" he called, and to her surprise, her son waved back.

Feeling panicky, she rushed out of the hospital and into the parking lot, stowing her son in the car seat and driving home as soon as possible. As she weaved her way through the busy streets, further away from that hospital, she felt her nerves calm again and put it out of her mind.

Or so she thought.

The doctors never could explain it, but Granny didn't get sick again. In fact, she was one of the most clear-headed people in the hospital. She could identify the nurses by name and shift, and even reminded them about meals and pills. After a full week of insisting, her very puzzled physician signed the release forms, scratching his head as he did.

But his consternation was nothing when compared to that of Momma's. She was a clever woman, and it only took a few more trips to the hospital with her son to figure it out. When her suspicions were validated, she felt a deep sense of dread, deeper and more fearsome than anything she'd felt in her life.

She knew all the punishments, and she knew what would happen if anyone figured it out. She couldn't tell a soul, not even her husband. Oh, her husband. What would he do if she did…

Nobody knew but her and Granny, who vowed to keep her secret. When her husband left for work the two of them sat the boy down, and told him the rules: He was not allowed to visit the hospital anymore - or any hospital ever. If one of his friends were sick, he had to stay away; germs were icky, and he didn't want to get a cough again, did he? In fact, stay away from sick people, or injured people, like Sammy Thornton when he'd broken his wrist.

If he broke any of these rules, Momma and Granny would be very disappointed in him, and something terrible would happen. The boy was a very good one, and he'd nodded emphatically. He wouldn't break his Momma's rules.

When he went out to play, Granny held Momma close while she cried, and whispered soothing words in her ear.

"He's a good boy, Patti. A good boy!"

"I know dearie, I know."

"They'll call him a monster! They'll try to hurt him, but he wouldn't harm anyone!"

"It's a cruel world, dearie. But lambie's a good boy. No one will find out."

"He doesn't hurt people! He heals them! He's not a monster, he's an angel!"

"I know, dearie. That he is."

The boy wouldn't remember, but it was from then on that his Momma stopped calling him 'sweetheart', and started calling him 'Angel' instead.

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><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Twelve<strong>

**Reviews are always cherished and welcomed...**

**;)**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Understandings

**Shout out to Lily Harper Knox, my amazing beta! And thank you to all the wonderful people who reviews and alerted this story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.**

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><p>Judging by his dad's reaction on the phone, Kurt had been steeling himself the entire drive home for confrontation. As comforting as it was to have Blaine beside him and ready to face the onslaught, he knew nothing could prepare him for the moment when his father would start yelling at him about trust and responsibility. He had not been looking forward to the guilt that was sure to come, nor the task of convincing his dad to see reason, or even let Blaine into the house.<p>

What Kurt hadn't expected though, was how his father had really reacted.

When Burt opened the door, he paused for a moment, looking at the pair with a bleak expression. The disappointment brimming in his eyes made Kurt look away, the guilt pooling in his stomach and rising into his throat. It was even worse than Kurt had anticipated. Normally, his dad was a fighter, but this? He just looked saddened.

"I thought I told you to leave my son alone." Said Burt, turning to face Blaine instead.

Blaine, for his part, looked suitably chastened and dropped his gaze towards the floor. "I know sir," he said, "But I swear I had good reason."

Kurt, of course, had no idea what they were referring too, but was too ashamed to say anything at all. As they made their way into the living room and sat down Burt in his favourite arm chair, Kurt and Blaine together on the couch he'd completely forgotten everything he'd been planning to say in the car ride over. He almost wanted to reach over and grab Blaine's hand, but he didn't think that would help the situation much.

To his surprise, it was Blaine who broke the silence first.

"I think I owe you an explanation, sir," he said carefully, hands folded neatly in his hands, his expression deceptively calm.

"I think the both of you owe me that at least," Burt agreed dryly.

"Well then, let me begin Blaine shot a glance over at Kurt, who looked in no condition to speak. "Kurt and I met a couple months back, at the political gala in Westerville. We've been pretty much seeing each other since back then, without either yours or my parent's knowledge. Blaine paused here to glance at Burt, but the man's expression didn't change. He continued"I didn't tell my parents because I figured they wouldn't approve. Not only because of your position, but because of the idea of their youngest son bringing a boy home for dinner. I figured Kurt was of the same opinion about you, and given your speech that day when I came to talk to you, it almost made sense."

"Wait, when did you guys talk to each other Kurt began, but Burt shushed him with an impatient gesture.

"Go on, Blaine." He said.

Blaine cleared his throat delicately and continued"Well, at first I was pretty hurt by what you'd said. I couldn't believe you'd make such a harsh snap-judgement about me based on my family. Which then in hindsight, didn't make sense. Didn't you tell me that day that it was for that very reason I was bad for Kurt? Because my family was too judgemental? And for a guy whose entire political campaign was based around giving mutants a chance and a voice it seemed kind of strange. And then I had this weird dream, and I guess everything I'd been thinking and ignoring all surfaced in my subconscious, until suddenly it all made sense."

Kurt watched his dad carefully. As Blaine spoke, Burt's face slowly grew stonier and stonier, his expression darkening as he caught on to what Blaine was getting at. He knew. He knew that Blaine knew. Kurt thought he was going to faint, this was too much pressure…

Blaine paused in his monologue. He looked pensively at Mr. Hummel, as though weighing his following words with precise care.

"Mr. Hummel," he began, his expression genuine in the way only Blaine could be, "I love your son. No matter what. I would never hurt him. I would never let anyone else hurt him. If I may be so bold, I'd hazard a guess and say I care about him just as much as you do."

Kurt reached over and took Blaine's hand. Burt watched them carefully, considering Blaine's statement. His face had cleared again into its unreadable state once more.

"Do you trust him?" he asked, turning to his son.

"Implicitly," said Kurt. Blaine squeezed his hand.

"And do you know how he figured it out? We can't have people wandering around and just figuring this out, Kurt."

"I know dad," said Kurt quickly, "It was my fault, not Blaine's. I told him about mom, and he put two and two together when he saw me and the rest of New Directions. And he had to do a lot of research to actually make sure we were the same person."

"And even then, it was more of an educated guess than an inescapable proof." Blaine added.

"I promise though, dad, it won't happen again. Blaine was the exception, and the only one at that."

"And you won't tell anyone?" Burt shot Blaine a most threatening look.

"Not a soul." The boy replied.

"Good," said Burt decidedly, leaning back in his chair. Kurt could tell he was still uneasy. He was a careful man, but not a cruel one. He was going against his better judgement, and he was giving Blaine a chance. And that was all Kurt could ask for. He knew that as time went on and the two spent more time together, Burt would slowly cotton on to Blaine. And he wouldn't fight it either, because that was the man he was.

"You know Blaine," said Burt casually, "If you _do _endanger my boy, in any way, you'll regret the day you were born."

"_Dad!_" Kurt sputtered.

Burt chuckled in amusement. His son was shooting him an impressive death stare, and Blaine looked torn between making another earnest speech and being afraid for his life. He watched as Kurt pulled on the other boy's hand, flouncing angrily from the room and announcing that the two of them were going out for coffee. And yes, he'd be back before six.

Burt smiled after his son, and took a moment to appreciate the normality of the scene, a scene from the life Kurt _should_ have had. And if this Blaine character could give him that life, Burt supposed he could learn to live with the guy.

But still he worried.

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><p>The Anderson's dining room was an elaborate affair of thick velvet draping and heavy mahogany furniture. A fire place was built into one wall and an expensive china cabinet by the other. The table was long and wide, and a large bay window stood behind the head of the table, illuminating the scene now with a watery day's sunlight.<p>

"I won't do it Smythe," said Brom Anderson coldly from where he sat at the head. Campaign papers were strewn between them on the table, untouched for some time. Richard Smythe was leaning back in his chair, hands resting calmly on the table. He'd anticipated this reaction: unlike himself, Brom wasn't a man of vision. He would settle for lesser strategies in order to win the election, and as such admit defeat at the hands of the mutants. He wouldn't fight for success the way Smythe would, and that was his failing. It was a pity. Anderson had so much potential, and it was a shame that Smythe would have to resort to his following tactics in order to ensure his own victory.

"I'm afraid you don't have any choice in the matter." Said Smythe easily, "We're not going to change the campaign."

"Of course I have a choice, Richard!" Anderson bristled, "I will not remain on this sinking ship when there are perfectly good lifeboats to see me through."

"Or you could stay on the ship and plug its holes," Smythe added airily, "No, I'm afraid you _really _don't have a choice."

At that moment the door at the end of the room opened slowly, revealing a fearsomely tall man. His hair was long and lank, curtaining his scarred and tattooed visage, and his clothes were dank and tattered, a mess of leather and chains and a long overcoat.

"Meet Mongrel." Smythe shot Brom a cordial smile, one that didn't meet his eyes. "He's new to our campaign, and I'm sure he'll fit quite nicely onto the team. You see, Brom," Smythe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with a patronizing look, "Mongrel here and I have a common enemy. One that should be yours, too. We have all been wronged by the mutants, all of us they have attempted to thwart. But we believe, Brom, that mutants have their place. The place where they should have stayed at the bottom of society. And we intend to keep them there."

"You're insane." Brom's face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at his partner. A man he'd known for so long, yet suddenly couldn't recognise. "This isn't happening, Richard, look at yourself-"

"Come now, Brom," Smythe shook his head regretfully"I don't think you understand. This _is _happening. And you're going to help us. Don't you think it's high time we put Hummel and those New Directions back where they belong?"

Brom's voice was barely a whisper as he forced out the words. "And where's that?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

Smythe just smiled. Standing up, he strolled across the room, coming to stand behind Brom's chair.

"Wouldn't it just be _terrible_," he began, resting his hands on the man's shoulders, "If something were to happen to Blaine. We wouldn't want an incident like last time; I know how much that frightened you. And Blaine is such a nice boy … such a bright boy, with a bright future, too …"

"What do you want, Smythe?" Brom spat, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't seem to stop them shaking.

"What do I want?" Smythe seemed to think carefully about the question, glancing at Mongrel and at Brom. Finally, he patted the man warmly on the shoulder and returned to his chair, answer ready.

"I want to _win_."

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><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Thirteen<strong>

**Review and tell me things? We can play 'Guess the Plot'! Guess what evil scheme you think Smythe's got up his sleeve...Bonus points for creativity!)**

**But seriously, thank you all for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Rivalries

**Dedicated to my wonderful beta Lily Harper Knox, without whom this story would literally never exist.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.**

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><p>As they drove towards his house, Kurt found himself repeating the same sentence over and over to Blaine.<p>

"He's not going to attack you, Blaine."

"He hates me,"

"He doesn't hate you-"

"I don't want to go!"

"It's been two weeks, Blaine; he's fine. Besides, what do you intend us to do instead?"

"We can watch the football."

"We are not watching football."

"And I am not getting murdered."

It had been two weeks since the talk with Kurt's dad, and since then things had been troubled. Despite Mr. Hummel's blessing that Kurt and Blaine should be very happy together, Blaine still wasn't convinced of his sincerity, especially considering the events of this past fortnight.

No matter how many times Kurt insisted it wasn't his fault, Blaine couldn't help but watch in horror as his father stepped up his campaign against mutants.

"_We will not be silent as these violent creatures work their way into our society!"_ Brom Anderson had barked, slamming his fist against the podium, _"We will not let these monsters threaten our way of life, and hold us hostage in our own homes while they roam free and unfettered to wreak as much havoc as they please!"_

And while Kurt was sure his own dad was level-headed enough not to blame the boy for his father's actions, Blaine wasn't taking any chances.

"How can I possibly look him in the eye, Kurt?" Blaine sighed, playing with his seatbelt nervously, "I promised to not let anything hurt you, but my own father is out there trying to get you killed!"

In some ways Kurt could understand: Blaine was a people-pleaser at the best of times, but when it came to _important _people? To Blaine, this kind of failure was simply not an option.

And to be fair, Burt hadn't exactly done anything to rid Blaine of these delusions: it had only been a couple days after their talk that Kurt had invited Blaine over again - and as Blaine had put it: "there is only so much glaring a guy can handle when he's trying to make puff pastry with his boyfriend".

But this time would be different: Kurt had given his father a serious talking to about his actions towards Blaine, and had made him agree to a direct set of guidelines regarding their interactions. Burt had sighed playfully before agreeing, and Kurt had the sneaking suspicion that his father had only spent so much time glaring at Blaine for his own amusement.

"You are not responsible for your father's behaviour." Kurt said now, with only the slightest hint of steel in his voice to make Blaine listen. They were just now turning into his street, "it's not your job to make his decisions for him, and it's not your job to oppose him. Besides, my dad and I are doing plenty on that front anyway, and we don't expect your help."

Blaine was silent at this, staring moodily out the window. It wasn't often that Kurt ever brought up the New Directions, and when he did the subject didn't exactly lend itself to discussion. From the get go Kurt had made it clear his position on the topic of the rest of the team.

They'd been sitting together on Blaine's bed while his parents were out, cross legged and opposite each other, holding hands.

"I've told you all my secrets, Blaine," Kurt had said carefully, gazing into the other boy's eyes, "but the rest don't belong to me. All you need to know is that sometimes I'll be busy, and I can't tell you why, and that there are important people in my life about whom you will never know."

"I understand." Blaine had answered quickly, kissing his cheek.

Although it had been a difficult concept to grasp – that there were entire portions of Kurt's life that Blaine could never know – Kurt was glad to finally have it all out in the open. While he hadn't told Blaine the whole truth, he wasn't hiding it anymore either. And it was gratifying to know that Blaine could trust him like this. A simple "I need to go now" would be met with an "I love you" and a kiss – no judgement, no mistrust, and no anger.

Sometimes - when it was late at night that Kurt would get a call - Blaine would give him a worried look, and Kurt would jug him and say: "I'll text you later". Just to let Blaine know he'd be alright.

Kurt pulled in to the driveway and killed the engine, sighing when Blaine didn't move.

"It'll be fine," he said.

"I hope so," Said Blaine, unbuckling his seatbelt. "The things I do for you!"

Kurt smiled to himself as they stepped out of the car.

"Let's get this over with." Blaine stretched his arms like he was preparing for a marathon. Kurt rolled his eyes and opened the door.

"I'm home!" he called, stepping inside, "Blaine's with me!"

"Oh, good to see you, kiddo; Blaine," Burt called from the living room. He was watching the football on TV.

"You too, Mr. Hummel." Blaine replied cheerily, even though his expression was slightly panicked.

"Blaine and I will be in my room," Kurt said, taking Blaine's hand and leading him towards the stairs. Blaine stared at him with wide eyes before glancing back in terror at Kurt's dad.

"Door open." Was all the older man said, not turning away from the TV.

Kurt tugged on Blaine's hand and met his wary gaze. "Unless you want to stay here and watch the football with my dad?"

Blaine shook his head thoroughly and followed him up the stairs. As Blaine followed him to his room, Kurt tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time something like this had happened. Not only that he was taking a boy up to his room (although that was rather new), but the fact that he was taking someone that wasn't an immediate part of his family.

Kurt had never been the most social of people, not by a long shot. Aside from the fact that he was secretly a supernatural vigilante (which was isolating enough), Kurt was a musical theatre loving, fashion wearing, Vogue reading gay teenager in Ohio. He didn't exactly lend himself towards popularity. Besides Blaine, Kurt's only friends were really the New Directions. Of those, he was closest to Rachel, Mercedes and Tina. And on the odd occasion that they should take a risk and meet up outside of their regular New Directions meetings, they usually did so at either Mercedes' or Rachel's houses.

So, long story short: Kurt didn't have friends over. And he was nervous.

"Sorry if it's a bit of a mess," he said distractedly, ushering Blaine through his bedroom door. He was suddenly very aware of the things he never usually took notice of: his laptop screensaver of embarrassing family holiday photos, the lame books on his bookshelf he hadn't thought to get rid of, the incredibly lame certificates and old art projects he'd put on his shelf for the sake of personal flair. "I'm not very well-equipped for entertaining."

Blaine, to Kurt's immense surprise, seemed to perk up at the sight. "Wow," he said, gravitating immediately towards the shelf, "You're room is amazing."

Kurt blushed a deep red as Blaine inspected each thing on display with delight. "It's very you," he was babbling, oblivious to Kurt's reaction, "it has this almost unintentional colour scheme to it, that kind of links it all together in one big museum of 'Kurt'. I love this – did you make this?" Blaine turned around. He was holding a lopsided scarlet sculpture that Kurt had made for art class the year previously. It was absolutely terrible, but it had scraped him an A-, and he'd kept it because it matched his headboard.

"Uh, yeah?" he said, somewhat confused.

"You never cease to amaze me," Blaine said, placing the sculpture back on the shelf with care.

"You can keep it if you want," Kurt offered. He was still slightly nonplussed by Blaine's reaction to his room. It wasn't exactly design genius, like Blaine's room was.

"Oh, I could never," said Blaine, touched, "It matches your headboard."

Kurt had to sit down.

"Hey, Kurt; hello, Blaine," Kurt turned towards the door to face Carole, Blaine doing the same.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hummel," he said immediately, flashing a charming smile. Carole had taken to Blaine immediately, and Blaine – the charming bastard - knew it.

"I hope you're staying for dinner," Carole said, smiling at him with just a hint of admiration. Blaine's smile had that effect on people.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," Blaine said quickly; he was clearly considering the effects of an entire dinner in the midst of Burt Hummel. Kurt snickered.

"You should stay, Blaine," he said, with a hint of a smile, "It wouldn't be an intrusion at all."

"Definitely, dear," Carole agreed, "It'll be lovely to have you."

Once she was safely down the hall and on the stairs Blaine turned to Kurt with an accusatory stare. "You did that on purpose."

Kurt looked innocent, "What? You're accusing me of wanting to spend time with my boyfriend?"

They bickered on for some time, even as they curled up on Kurt's bed to watch America's Next Top Model (at first Blaine was hesitant to be anywhere near Kurt while Burt was so close by, but after an exasperated "Really, Blaine! What do you want to do? Sit on the floor?" he'd finally acquiesced).

Time passed, and soon the smell of dinner wafted with slow intoxication up the stairs, followed swiftly after by Carole's voice: "Boys, dinner!"

After a few words of encouragement from Kurt, the two boys descended the stairs, followed closely by a surprised Finn.

"What's _he_ doing here?" he demanded as they entered the dining room.

"_Blaine_ is joining us for dinner." Kurt replied airily, taking a seat at the table beside Blaine. He then shot a warning look at his step-brother, who shrugged gruffly and looked away. Finn took his seat opposite them, but his suspicious glances in Blaine's direction weren't exactly subtle. Two minutes in and already this wasn't going as Kurt had planned. Blaine looked nervous.

Salvation came in a most unexpected form, dispersing the tension that had rapidly descended upon the table: "This smells delicious, Carole," Burt said as he entered the room and dropped heavily into his seat with a smile.

"Thank you, Burt, it's lasagne – I hope you like lasagne, Blaine!"

"Love it!" Blaine said with a smile. Kurt squeezed his hand under the table to alleviate the slight panic in his eyes. He was sure Carole had picked up on it, but - bless her - she said nothing and began dishing up.

"So, how was your day, Kurt?" Burt asked, accepting his plate from Carole with a small 'thanks'.

"It was great," Kurt replied enthusiastically, glad to turn the attention away from his boyfriend, "Blaine and I went to between the sheets to find good songs for his Glee Club."

"Huh. You like singing Blaine?"

"Oh, um. Yes sir. Very much."

Burt nodded. "Well, Kurt doesn't shut up, so it's nice that he has you to relate to."

"Hey!" Kurt objected. Blaine snorted indelicately and attempted to pass it off as a cough. Burt grinned and went back to his lasagne. Finn looked moodily down at his dinner.

"So Blaine, what's this club called?" Asked Carole.

"The Warblers. It's an all male a capella group."

"I don't suppose you've got any Mellencamp in your repertoire?" Burt said.

"No. No I don't think we do, sir. We're mostly Top Forty." Blaine smiled.

"Hey, none of this 'sir' business," Burt said, pointing his fork at the boy, "Call me 'Burt."

Kurt could barely contain his grin. Burt glanced his way for a moment with a small smile, before making conversation with Carole.

"I'm thinking of joining McKinley's Glee Club." Finn blurted suddenly across the table.

Everyone turned to stare at him, with varying expressions of confusion. For his part, Finn looked most confused of all.

"And … you want to do that _because_?" Kurt said. Burt shot him a look.

"That's great Finn," he said, reaching over and patting Finn on the shoulder, "I didn't realise you enjoyed singing so much."

"Yeah, well, um," Finn said, frowning. "I've kinda been considering it for a while now anyway, so."

"Well," said Blaine, who was possibly the least bemused of everyone, "I thoroughly recommend it. It's fun."

Finn didn't reply, unsure whether to agree with Blaine or glare at him again.

"Well," said Kurt, breaking the ensuing awkward pause, "You should suggest 'Dancing Queen' to them, Finn. Maybe then _someone _will acknowledge its true genius."

"Unlikely." Blaine muttered.

"Plebeian." Kurt rejoined.

Dinner continued on like this, Burt suggesting the 'Macarena' as an appropriate song choice. Blaine countered with 'Hot Girls', and sang a few bars to give Kurt's parents a gist of it. Carole, however, stole the night by suggesting 'Baby Got Back' of all songs.

When the dishes had all been washed and dried, and Blaine made his leave for the night, it was in good cheer that Burt and Carole said goodbye to him, making him promise to join them again sometime.

"I think they like you," Kurt whispered in Blaine's ear, when they were alone by the door.

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, "I think they do. Except Finn, it seems."

"You can leave me to deal with him," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "He's impossible sometimes."

"On the bright side, its because he cares about your safety."

"Whatever."

As they said their last goodbyes, and Kurt watched Blaine's retreating form from by the door, he figured this was probably the best day of his life.

* * *

><p><strong>So Ends Chapter Fourteen<strong>

**Wow, _Fourteen_ already? Geez, this really is getting close isn't it? This fic is turning into a (wait for it) monster!**

**Ha! Geddit? *laughs at own joke***

**Anywayy, I love reviews so you should leave them, and of course thank you SO SO MUCH for all the AMAZING ones you've left already. You guys are truly amazing. Also, I apologise for all the errors in the last chapter. I think some of the dashes and such got lost while uploading...**

**So, until next time I suppose!**

** - triedtolie**


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